


Kaleidoscopes

by Kaekiro



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Drabbles, F/M, One Shot Collection, Requests
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2018-06-10 04:01:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 38
Words: 72,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6938833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaekiro/pseuds/Kaekiro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of stories that will follow Eren and Mikasa through various AUs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fragmented Quiescence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit early, but this is for the "Sleep" prompt for Eremika Fluff Week :)  
> Enjoy!

Light, unsteady shakes of the mattress and the soft  rustle of linen stir Eren into consciousness. Somnolent jades crack open and when she comes into view, he frowns at the sight. Her back is to him;  smooth, muscular frame uncovered and curled into the familiar fetal position.

This makes him worry somehow. He has become so accustomed to her near him when they sleep, even more so during their first years together that a little part of him worries when she turns away to distance herself. Eren shifts closer to his fiancée and throws their thin sheets over the bony point of her shoulder. He moves his arm with care, wrapping it gently around the toned dip of her waist, and it's then that she turns around to curl up to him.

Her eyes don't open as he anticipates but instead, his eyes follow her pupils as they slide carefully, drowsily beneath their lids. A few ebony locks drape across the delicate features of her face when she rolls over, making her nuzzle her deeper into the cotton pillow and Eren can't help but smile as she wrinkles her tiny nose in discomfort. Her hair has grown a generous amount in the past few years and he realizes how much he's missed the way it frames the almond shape of her face, admires it even. It's a bit comical to think of why he suggested she cut it. All because he was a moody, capricious preteen who didn't take kindly to Jean’s innocent complement during their early trainee days. His fingers slide beneath the unruly bangs and push the soft tresses behind the flexible shell of her ear, inky strands spilling along the side of her throat and onto the bed. The tips of his fingers don't stop there; They circle the edge of her jaw and continue along the slope of it, reaching up to trace the lined scar.

The tissue has long healed, but he hasn't.

Not entirely.

Though she has verbally forgiven him time and time again, he can never truly extenuate himself for the wrongs he had done her during their youth. And the defined line beneath long lashes serves as his biggest reminder.

Taunting him with every unintentional glance.

_You almost killed her._

_Almost_ is the thread that tied her to this world. The invisible borderline that separated her life from death. A death that undoubtedly would've been his undoing.

_Almost_ is what haunts him the most.

Deep breaths through her nostrils draw him out of his darker thoughts, troubled eyes fixating on their brighter reality. Her eyes remain closed as her hand lifts to cover his own and his soften when she gives his palm a tired squeeze. He inhales softly as to not rouse her and focuses on the warm texture of her gold ring against his knuckle. The diamond sitting snuggly atop her finger never seizes to make his heart flutter with excitement and avidity. She is going to be his. And he can't wait to finally be hers. The thought alone is inspiriting and heartening.

_I'm the lucky one._

He doesn't realize he's murmured his thoughts till she shifts again and he holds his breath, waiting for her to respond, almost apologizing for disturbing her -

Almost _._

Her voice never comes.

His breath releases into the tiny gap between them, apologies dissipating along with it and his fingers resume their tender ministrations.

It's hardly fathomable to think that long ago he vowed they'd be together for the rest of their lives. That in their dire situation he promised her eternity as he courageously shielded her from the merciless hands of death. And in just weeks, they will make it an _official_ vow.

Getting the ring was probably the most tedious thing he has ever done. He never really entertained the prospect of marriage until the months following their victory. It became more prominent as they shared many moments together after the reclamation (and ultimately the destruction) of Wall Maria. The times spent alone together, feelings shared through lingering touches and a few stolen kisses behind trees, in open fields, and once in the rain. They began sleeping in each other's rooms every other night. It started as something accidental, but neither minded and it gradually it became something innocent, natural, and a bittersweetly nostalgic between them. He woke up next to her one morning, so warm and soft she was. Not even the brightness of the rising sun could outshine the smile she had blessed him with and it was then that he knew: _she's the only one I could ever see._

He knows Mikasa like the back of his scarred hand - ridges and curves, her likes and dislikes - but he was a bit foggy when it came to her tastes. She's never cared for anything… flashy, but he wasn't going to be cheap either. Armin had offered to accompany him, but Eren insisted on doing it on his own. It was more special to pick it out himself and to be helped would take some of that away.  So that's what he did. It took a couple days, a few lame excuses, hundreds of questions and a tired salesman, but he made a final choice. Weeks began to pass and he had tried to think of every possible way to ask her, ultimately dissatisfied with his lack of creativity.

Until an idea struck him (Sasha helped with that one). Only it accidentally slipped out and, as luck would have it, in the worst way possible.

With a flushed face, he had explained to Historia about his little “plan” and felt more comfortable practicing his “will you marry me” speech with her. Evidently, Mikasa had walked in on them, gawking at the two when she saw a blushing Eren down on one knee, ring in one hand and Historia’s small palm in the other. Even her majesty didn't know what to do, didn't know if she should even _say_ anything as the three stared at one another.

Silence.

Mikasa closed her mouth, beginning to blink furiously, voice wavering, “Hanji is looking for you Eren,” she turned her back to them, arm raising and swiping at her face, “I’ll just tell her you're busy.” She starting walking out, a _sorry for interrupting_ echoing through the hall as she did. Like the idiot he was, he remained there, kneeling, unblinking and body grounded, letting the situation sink in before Historia's nudge made him stumble and he followed right after, tucking the ring messily into its box as he rushed apologies out to the petite blonde. But as he made a clumsy turn around the corner, she had already disappeared.

He called for her. Searched and asked and searched and asked around because he desperately needed to tell her that it was a misunderstanding, to come back, that it's _her_ he wants. But not even the ever so clever Armin could locate her. His anxiety and unsteadiness grew with each aching hour he spent pacing around the cabin until finally the hinges of the door groaned with friction.

His heart throbbed as he looked into her red eyes, cheeks blotched with salty tears that _he_ had unintentionally caused. When she finally meet his eyes, she sniffled through a watery smile and she _congratulated_ him. And he _snapped_ . She tried to avoid him - she really did _-_ but what Mikasa didn't know was that her emotions had hit him second-hand just by looking at her face alone. He practically dragged her outside, cuffed her wrist with his hand and rambled along the edge of the forest, ignoring her feeble questions as they continued aimlessly. Before long, they made it to a small clearing, away from their nosy, bound-to-be-intrusive squad mates.

Trees and newly budded flowers gave witness as he _tried_ to untangle the mess his lack of discreteness caused. But his truculent side seeped out and his tone became more disgruntled than he had intended. He did almost the complete opposite of what he wanted to do -

_Almost_.

He had kissed her.

Pinned her gingerly against the rough bark, silenced the growing volume in her voice and felt the softness of her mouth with his own chapped one, blood heating the surface of his skin as cool air breezed around them. He poured out his passion for her with every swipe of their lips, felt her tense muscles relax in his grip. During those moments, Eren wondered how something he previously thought trivial could make him feel so unusually light-headed, feel something bigger than he is. How warmth spread on the inside and goosebumps out, and how her sigh flittering along his cheek breathed _so much_ life into him. Forehead against forehead, he finished with a kiss at the corner of her mouth, quietly reiterated his promises he had formerly made to her with tangled fingers at their sides. Each silent second that passed filled his mind with apprehension at what he had done, unsure if this was too sudden, given his predicament with her. Perhaps she was as shocked as he. His heart continued to race painfully as he repeated the question that was initially meant for her, skipping a couple beats when a breathless _yes_ fell from her kiss-swollen lips.

Those same lips are parted slightly, small puffs of air escaping and ghosting over the bottom of his palm and along the inside of his wrist. Her grip over it became slack sometime during his reminiscence and all he can do is stare as grey pupils continue their lidded, tenuous movement. He often wonders what she dreams about. If it's past memories or a desired future. If it's him she's dreaming of.

His eyes roam over what his fingers cannot. They trace the blue tint of moonlight that shines over her fair skin and adds luster to raven locks, making her glow in the most enchanting of ways. Watches the steady rise and fall of her body, becoming more enthralled with each breath. Her subtle shiver at the autumn breeze flowing through their bedroom. He moves even closer and pulls the blanket to her chin, resting his calloused palm against her face to move his fingers behind her head, cradling the base of her skull as nails begin trail along her scalp.

The supple skin of her lips press together lightly and she moves her head along with the slow movement of stubby nails, face relaxing impossibly more.

Then his heart feels what his skin cannot.

Since the extinction of the titans, he's come to realize three important things about the sleeping woman before him:

  1. Her presence in his life has heavily influenced and motivated him during their seemingly endless journey.
  2. No one else can implement and elicit feelings of comfort and security that specifically pertain to her.
  3. And most of all, how damn lucky he is to have her here, now and (hopefully) forever.



In this world's sickening twist of Russian roulette, she was his luck that kept him alive. Time and time again she has saved him, encouraged him, protected him, loved him. He knows now that he would be dead a hundred times over if it wasn't for her. He's also aware that he’s too prideful or, in Jean’s words, too “egotistical” to admit it. One day, he tells himself. One day he will tell her about these revelations and pray to whatever deity there is that he will overcome his embarrassment and _really_ tell her.

The light streaming through translucent curtains collides and bounces off the many edges and surfaces of the rock. The iridescent rays cast everywhere, particularly on her hair and they are like twinkling stars illumined against the midnight hue.

She embodies the universe in which his world was crafted from. The soft texture of moon-kissed skin along the curvature of her neck his haven. Her smaller body has helped shoulder the weight of his pain and ambitions. Her even smaller hands have picked up the broken pieces of his undeserving soul and made… no, _make_ him whole. Astral orbs reflect what he can never verbally express. And he finds no need to. She understands every action, every look, every gesture and only asks for his company in return.

Now, he's more than willing to give that and fill her until he is empty and wasted and even then, he will promise to continue making his wrongs right and to carefully kiss where he has impulsively inflicted pain. It's what she deserves, and rightly so.

Because she is an oasis surrounded by scorching fields of sand.

Because she is a red rose amidst charcoal thorns and withered weeds.

Because her eyes have fluttered open, unfocused one moment, then shining with blithe inquisition when they meet his stare and _God_ he is a fool for her.

“Sorry.” He can feel color rushing to his cheeks, casting away cheesy and embarrassing thoughts, averting his gaze to her defined collarbone before emeralds timidly looked back into greys.

Long lashed eyes bat once, then twice. “Why?”

He clears his throat and opts not to answer, tentatively placing his thumb on her brow to outline the perfect arch of it.

“ _Sleep,_ ” he urges, fingers carding through her hair to run his nails along it once more, an action he’s (just) learned to soothe her.

Eren is proven right when her eyes begin to flutter in response and before she concedes, she tangles herself around him and he welcomes it, her natural lavender fragrance his melatonin.

And soon, it'll be her turn to watch as the other becomes immersed in the realms of sleep. To touch, to stare, to feel and to whisper:

_I’m the lucky one._

 


	2. The Chains That Held Us Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request from anonymous asking for a post-canon angsty/fluffy/breakup/makeup fic! Thank you :D Enjoy!

“Sasha and Connie are leaving into two days.”

 

“Where to?” _Crack._

 

“Sasha's hometown.”

 

“Good luck to Connie.” _Crack,_ “What about Jeanbo?”

 

Mikasa mouth contorts into a small smile at the old nickname, “He’s going to move inside Wall Sina.”

 

“Ah, I guess he's never really changed. Still wants the all the luxury,” Eren sighs, centering another chunk of wood in front of him. “Makes sense since he complained about everything during the whole trip,” he grunts, throwing the old axe down.

 

Mikasa couldn't disagree entirely. Eren exaggerated a bit, but Jean wasn't the only one complaining while they traveled. But she wouldn't have it any other way. Eren and Jean bickering, Sasha cooking, Connie’s poorly timed jokes, Armin reading silently to himself. It all made her like she was home again. Her blonde friend even began writing about the places they discovered and the people they've met along the way. Armin left with Hanji almost a week ago to the Scouting Legion base, both of them fixing, working and mapping the once uncharted territory. She misses him already.

 

_Crack._

 

The splitting wood steers her thoughts back to the man standing before her. She watches as he fixes the wood in place, observes the way his biceps bulge beneath the thin shirt as he lifts the axe with ease, how the muscles in his back bunch. She's so proud of how strong he's become, how much he's matured.

 

“It won't be the same without them y’know? It's going to be...” _crack,_ “weird watching them leave.” He uttered, consistently tugging at his shirt to cool off. By the way he says it, she can tell he's really going to miss them. They've accomplished so much together, and with everyone going their separate ways, she can't help but wonder what he wants next. Maybe he could finally settle somewhere. They could settle somewhere.

 

“...What do you plan to do?”

 

He stops mid swing and turns to her, wiping the sweat from his forehead. The question itself doesn't catch him off guard, but the tone in her voice does. It's uncharacteristically timid, and somehow expectant. The axe drops against the moist soil with a dull thud.

 

He scratches the back of his head as he looks sideways, arm falling at his side. “I don't really know,” he answers vaguely, “I think I'll pick up where we left off…” his sentence trails off (he doesn't see the way her eyes shine with hope), face scrunching as he sneezes, “with traveling I mean,” he sniffles, turning back around to resume his work.

 

Mikasa can't help but pout a bit. She should've anticipated that. Eren is never one to stay still. He's like a cloud, never to be tied down, always moving forward.

 

“Then... I'll go with you.” Eren looks at her again. The disappointed look on her face betrays the nonchalance in her statement.

 

He raises the hatchet. “You don't have to you know,” _Crack,_ “You could do other things if you'd like.”

 

“I should be there to make sure you're safe.”

 

“I think I can handle myself just fine now.”

 

“Doesn't hurt to be sure,” She shrugs.

 

_Crack._

 

“I don't need a babysitter Mikasa, you’ve done enough already.” She doesn't even flinch at the small bite in his tone.

 

“I promised your mother that I would-”

 

“She's not here anymore and neither are the titans. You can stop worrying about me and take the time to worry about yourself. You don't owe me anything.”

 

She stops and waits for the bomb to diffuse. She wants to prevent an argument but she's afraid they're already having one, if the increasing tension in the atmosphere gives any indication. He continues his woodwork under the setting sun. Cicadas and crickets fill the silence between them as she gathers her thoughts and musters up the will to express them. She cautious as she opens her mouth to speak, carefully choosing her words.

 

“… I just thought,” her reluctance grows at his irritated sigh, “since we traveled for so long that maybe you would want to… stay home,” her hands fiddle with the ends of her scarf, “...for some time and relax.” She adds.

 

Even before they entered training Eren knew Mikasa didn't want the life of a soldier. Hell, he didn't want it for her either. She's hinted time and time again about leaving, about finding a home somewhere behind Rose, and he can't help but feel that _he_ is unintentionally holding her back with that stupid debt he never placed on her.

 

“I do want to do all that, but I just don't feel ready to ‘relax’ yet. Like I said, I don't think I've seen enough, especially after being inside that damn cage for so long.”

 

“But we have all the time in the world to travel. We've been in the military throughout our teenage years, and you've been through so much… I just want you-” _crack,_ “I want you to be alright.”

 

“I'm _fine_ Mikasa, I _will_ be fine. I won't be gone for long.” She doesn't fail to notice the singular aspect of his response.

 

“That's why I'm coming with you, so I can -”

 

He throws the axe down, cutting far deep that it sinks into the stool. He grits his teeth and keeps his back to her as he looks over his shoulder, throwing his hand down in vexation. “ _Look,_ Mikasa, I don't want you watching over me like some mother hen. There's no need for you to follow me around if you don't want to alright? If you want to settle down somewhere then do it.” She opens her mouth to speak, but he cuts her off, already knowing what she's going to say, “And don't use your imaginary debt as an excuse. You owe nothing. Just go at your own pace and for once do what _you_ want god dammit.”

 

He grasps roughly at the embedded axe, grunting as he pulls, muttering profanities at his difficulty until it eventually wriggled out. He flies back at the force of the pull and Mikasa shouts his name in surprise. He screws his eyes shut at the pain behind his head, hissing at the rock that has dug into his shoulder.

 

Emeralds open and he sees Mikasa kneeling, looking down at him with familiar concern etched on her face. She reaches her hand out, “Here, let me help you up. Where does it -”

 

Eren smacks her hand away, and this time, she flinches, “I don't need that from _you_ ,” he mutters, shuffling his legs to stand, “I said I was fine,” he dusts himself off. The distance between them is barely two feet, but she feels that she is far, far away. He looks to everything but her. “That should be enough firewood till we leave this place.”

 

“I'll help you carry -” She turns to walk towards the chopped stack before his stern voice halts her.

 

“ _No_. This is _my_ chore. I don't need your help. I'll take it in.”

 

The delicate skin on her limp hand begins to redden as she meets his scowl, and a pang of regret hits him at the mark and at her downcast nod.

 

“I'll leave you to it then…”

 

She retreats back inside and Eren follows her movements, staring even when the door closes behind her.

 

The muddied pads of his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. “Damn it.”

 

Mikasa makes her way to her room, blinking the tears that begin well away from her eyes, until she finally closes the door behind her, leaning against it while running her fingers over the scarlet fabric around her neck.

 

_I don't need that from you. I don't want you watching over me._

 

Was she that much of a burden to him? She just wants him to be okay. But this isn't the first time he's said those things to her. And this isn't the first time she's felt like she was his enemy. She's excused it as frustration, tried to convince herself that he doesn't mean it. But he is grown man and has made it clear what he wants, and that obviously doesn't include her. She's tried to give him space, let him handle things on his own. She thought that things were different between them, that they've worked to build a balance. But he’s reminded her yet again that she's nothing but an overprotective presence in his life.

 

She rubs at her eyes softly. It was only a matter of time before she finally took the hint.

 

_I don't need you._

 

Mikasa sees then. Realizes then.

 

 _She_ is holding him back. Perhaps it is better for him if she leaves.

 

She sits at her desk, unraveling the treasured cloth before hesitantly opening the drawer, reaching for paper and her small utensil. She lays the paper flat upon the wooden surface, opening the miniature jar of black ink. She lights the wick above scented wax, illuminating the darkening room to begin the hardest letter she's ever written, heart aching at her final decision.

 

~•~

 

Once the tedious process is through, a freshly bathed Eren crashes onto a lumpy sack he calls his bed. The others aren’t back yet. His head still hurts from his little accident. His eyes unconsciously shift to Mikasa's usually open door directly across from his, taking note how it's shut completely. His anger has simmered down and he thinks back to their conversation earlier, cringing at his venomous words. The prospect of her moving away leaves him feeling hollow, even more so with everyone else to find their life. He hates that he let his anger get the best of him, how his impulsive words suddenly made him forget their history together. It's virtually impossible for him to leave her and he is ashamed that he has actually wished for it at during his rageful episodes.

 

It scares him because the spur of the moment made it so _easy_ to tell her to go and for a minute, he ponders apologizing to her. But he is exhausted and his eyes begin to droop as his heart and mind slow. He yawns and rolls to his side, deciding that he will talk to her in the morning. She will get over it. She's never taken his words seriously, too stubborn to do so. He's sure because he made a promise, one that not even _he_ could forget.

 

~•~

 

Soon he is dreaming.

 

Dreaming that he is lost in the endless maze of the forest. He is drenched in rain as it continues it's frigid downpour, eyes barely blinking away the water before the gusts of wind force more to pellet his body. His shivers become uncontrollable and his face meets the harsh, muddy ground when his foot catches a thick root, twisting the ankle. His right arm and leg flare with pain and he cries for help.

 

_“Armin! Jean! Someone!”_

 

He reaches for his gear, only to find a gaping wound where the holsters should be along his ribs. His limbs and vocal chords scream in agony, throat constricting and eyes closing tightly as he accepts his fate. He sputters and coughs, saliva mixing with mud.

 

_“Mikasa!”_

 

The rain stops. Everything goes still. His eyes remain shut and he continues to shiver until a soft hand touches his cheek. His lids flutter open; black, red and white blurring together as sunlight enters his vision.

 

“ _Eren_.” His ears are ringing but the softness of her voice calms him instantly, and when her slender fingers card through his dripping hair he knows he's safe. He barely registers her movements as his head is placed on her lap and he blinks away the blinding rays to look up at her.

 

She is smiling at him. A rarity that complements her and she is an angel, spreading her warmth to him when she takes his bloodied hand in her pale one, placing their joined hands on top of her beating heart. Her white button up becomes soaked with blood.

 

His eyes droop and he is terrified; afraid that he is passing until her voice flows smoothly through his ears, focusing his entire being on the woman above him. “ _It will be okay_ ,” she whispers and he believes her wholeheartedly even with his current state. Tired lids flicker and he absent-mindedly syncs his breathing with the steady rhythm of her heart against his knuckles.

 

He was alone, he thought everyone had left, but she was with him. She's always with him.

 

She must've read his thoughts, for she begins telling him, over and over, _“I’m here. Don't be afraid.”_

 

Dull emeralds slide shut.

 

“ _I'll always be with you._ ”

 

~•~

 

Eren stirs into consciousness, rolling onto his back when he feels his right arm and leg asleep. Sunlight burns through his lids and he stretches, wiping away the trail of drool at the corner of his mouth.

 

_That dream..._

 

“Eren. Hey, Eren!”

 

He raises his head promptly, acknowledging his bald friend and girlfriend at the doorway.

 

“What is it, Connie?” He yawns.

 

“Where is Mikasa going?”

 

His eyes snap open at that, eyes squinting and nose wrinkling as he gives Connie a perplexed look.

 

“What do you mean ‘where is she going’?” He throws his legs over the edge of the bed to stand, staggering at the pins and needles in his right leg.

 

“She came to me, Sasha and Jean earlier. She told us she needed to take care of something, that she'll be back, but… she _hugged_ all of us before she went out with her things packed at her side,” he pauses, then chuckles a bit, “Man, you should've seen the look on Jean's face when Mikasa -”

 

“How long ago did she leave?”

 

The argument. What was the last thing she said to him? _I’ll leave you then..?_ He swallows thickly. She couldn’t have really listened to _him_ of all people. But it's Mikasa, when hasn't she?

 

“Maybe about an hour ago…? She didn't take her horse.”

 

“You're just telling me now?”

 

“We didn't know what was going on!” Sasha cried, “She just got up and left…”

 

Eren stomach flipped as he wobbled over and squeezed past the couple, turning the knob to Mikasa's door, the pair following right behind him.

 

_No way._

 

It seemed as though she never left, had Connie stayed silent about Mikasa. Bed sheets neatly made on the mattress, closet doors closed, although it was more than likely empty. The desk was completely void of her belongings, except for a note and when he spots her scarf underneath the creased paper, his head begins to spin. His hand swiftly reaches for the note, recognizing the slanted handwriting as it spelled “ **_Eren_ ** _”_ on the top fold. He almost didn't want to open it, but given the situation, he didn't give himself a choice as his fingers flipped it open, reading it's minimal contents, foolishly hoping this is a misunderstanding. When he's finished he sets the letter down, standing completely still, face darkening as reality descends upon him.

 

Sasha immediately senses the change in his demeanor. “Eren? What's it say?”

 

Eren stays silent, and when Sasha takes a step inside, he kicks the chair over and grabs at his hair.

 

“Eren! what's wrong?”

 

Eren fists the paper in his hands and throws it to the side, swiping the scarf from the desk. He disregards the perturbed calls of his friends, sprinting towards the stable, struggling to release the nearest horse. He doesn't take the time to strap a saddle once it's freed. He prompts the stallion to run, jumping on the back and wrapping his arms around the neck as it begins its gallop. His grip on her scarf grows tighter along with the pain in his chest. The nearest city, if he recalls, is about a mile down the winding road from them. He has an idea of where she went and he hopes to God that he is right. Her unspoken words echo inside his racing mind.

 

**_Eren,_ **

**_I thought about what you said, and you were right._ **

 

He wasn't, he really wasn't.

 

**_I did what I did, not because I owe a debt, but because I care for you. I know now that I've been overbearing with my concerns and should have trusted you more. So that's what I'm going to do._ **

 

He doesn't think he’ll make it, so he cuts through the maze of trees, riding fiercely through an open field.

 

**_When you read this, I'll be gone. I don't know where to, but once I've settled, I'll write to Armin for him to tell you, that is, if you wish to know._ **

 

The walls come into view, and he taps his foot against the horse's side, moving even faster when he sees the boat enter the dock.

 

**_I'm returning your scarf for your safe keeping. Even though I won't be physically beside you on your journey, a part of me will. I’ll miss you dearly during our time apart, but I hope to see you again someday._ **

 

The boat makes it inside the walls and his horse can't move any faster, causing his throat to constrict and his to water. This can't be goodbye.

 

**_Until that day comes, I pray for your security and your happiness. I hope you find fulfillment in your travels. You've worked very hard for it and I wish you the best of luck._ **

**_I'll always be with you, as you are with me._ **

 

White, fluffy feathers glide past him and he cranes his neck, watching two doves as they ascend higher, beating their wings harmoniously as they fly beside one another.

 

**_I just want you to remember that I am, and always will be, proud of you and I love you, Eren Jaeger._ **

**_-Mikasa_ **

 

He hates himself for being selfish, for putting his feelings before hers, when she put his _life_ before her own.

 

The bells of departure begin to ring as he weaves through garrison soldiers, paying no heed to their surprised shouts, ignoring them as they order him to stop. He comes closer, panting with every other _clop_ of hooves and desperately scours the area for raven hair. When he finally spots her, she's sitting down with her head tucked at her knees, hugging her legs closer. Before he can call to her, he realizes he's too late. The workmen begin sliding the ramp on board as they boat begins to sail and suddenly, it becomes a lot harder to breathe.

 

He doesn't think twice, body practically overflowing with adrenaline.

 

He hops off, feet racing forward as soon as they meet the cobblestone.

 

~•~

 

The boat jerks forward and she feels a rough tug at her heart. She told herself to be strong, reminds herself over and over that this will make Eren happy, but nothing could reassure her less. She doesn't stop the flow of tears, digging her face deeper into her skirt to hide them as they seep into the dark fabric. Shouts of goodbyes surround her as the boat moves and she doesn't even bother to look up, seeing no point to -

 

“Mikasa!”

 

She keeps her head down, positive that she's just imagining his voice. Eren wouldn't trouble himself to follow after her.

 

“Oi - _argh move!_ OI MIKASA!”

 

She looks up then, eyes going wide, fresh tears spilling over when she sees Eren stumbling, spitting out a string of curses as he bumps into strangers.

 

“Eren..?” She stands, rubbing her eyes to clear her vision, makes sure she's not dreaming. She walks even closer to the ledge and meets Eren's determined gaze, never breaking eye contact with him as he runs alongside the wooden vessel. He not only caught her attention, but as well as the other passengers as they gather around her along the ledge. He breaks through the crowd and her pulse picks up at the scarf, flowing freely and clutched tightly within his grasp. She and the surrounding others let out a sharp gasp when he shifts his direction toward the boat, panic running through her veins when he jumps off the walkway and over the water.

 

“Eren!”

 

He latches onto the ledge with an audible _crack_ , brushing off the pain in his ribs as he just barely clings on and she almost mistakes the scarf for blood. Her instinct is to rush and grab him, but he quickly steadies himself, already throwing a leg over the ledge and rolling onto the deck a few yards away from where she stands. He grunts loudly when he falls on his shattered rib, coughing dryly as he uses shaky limbs to lift himself. He stands, back a bit hunched over and when he looks up at her, the sight renders her speechless. There's something that sparks within his jade irises, something she finds unrecognizable and it becomes emphasized with glimmers of early sunlight. The red material is sandwiched between his chest and palm as he holds his ribs, limping toward her and the little crowd parts for him. Before she realizes it, the distance between them is barely a foot.  

 

She begins to stutter, failing to put her concerns and questions together verbally and it is frustrating because it's unlike her to be inarticulate, but Eren's expression never falters as he continues to stare at her. He removes his hand from his broken rib, holding it up between them, effectively halting her fragmented sentences. He raises the arm, tentatively cupping his palm behind the curvature of her head, pulling her closer - her breath hitches -

 

And he embraces her, securing his other free arm around the small of her back to close the space between them, despite the protest of his broken bones.

 

“I'm sorry,” he begins, Mikasa too shocked to even return his embrace, “I've hurt you. One too many times and… I'm so sorry, Mikasa.”

 

“Ere-”

 

“Wait, just -” he sighs deeply, lacing his fingers through midnight tresses, “let me finish.” He has grown taller than her, to the point where she must incline her neck to rest her chin on his broad shoulder. She looks straight on, past the people and the walls, amazed at how gentle he sounds. It brings her back to the fateful night they first met.

 

She complies.

 

The wood of the boat creaks with movement, waves splashing against it.

 

He continues.

 

“I'm sorry I cut you off most of the time… well, all the time. I'm sorry for every harsh word I've thrown at you when you just wanted to help. And without your help… I don't think I'd be standing here, honestly.”

 

“You've… done everything for me. And I haven't been… appreciative. At all, really.” He admits, chuckling lightly. People continue to stare, someone whispering how _romantic_ this is and his face warms, irritation bubbling. He persists, “I didn't mean what I said yesterday. I mean, I _do_ want you to live the life you want, but… the truth is that I can't um, I can't be without you.”

 

Then it's her face that begins warm.

 

“We’re a team, y’know? And, well,” he squeezes her a bit tighter, “ we have been together so long… and I um…”  

 

Her arms wrap around him then and he clears his drying throat.

 

Eren moves back only slightly, leaning his temple against hers.

 

“You've put my dreams, my goals, my life before yours and… It's about time I do the same, don't you think?” Her eyes begin to water for the third time that day and she rubs his back soothingly, nodding against his head.

 

He laughs breathily, and it's music to her ears, “that's what I thought.”

 

He leans back and removes his arms with a grimace, holding up the scarf between them before he loops it once, twice, thrice, covering her face until she smiles and his breath catches, remnants of last nights dream replaying through his mind.

 

Her hands move to fix the cloth properly, but he catches her palm in his, placing their joined hands against his heart, just as her dream self had done. His face tilts and reluctantly inches closer, her face turning completely scarlet when he presses an apologetic kiss to her cheek.

 

“Awhhh c'mon, You call that a kiss?!”

 

Both turn to the obnoxious woman on the side.

 

She throws her thick arms in the air. “Kiss her like a man!”

 

Then it's Eren's face that turns scarlet.

 

“Yeah!” a couple kids shout.

 

Eren frowns at the children. This isn't a damn play.

 

Others join in and soon the crowd begins to chant, “kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss,” and Eren looks at Mikasa, still locked in his embrace and the she shies away from his eyes, making something pleasant, yet entirely foreign flow within his being. He tilts her chin towards him, almond eyes blown wide at the gesture. He gives her a questioning look and she nods, closing her eyes as her face warms impossibly more, emotions burning wildly when his mouth meets hers.

 

Cheers erupt and Eren feels irritated but elated because _finally_ , he knows (and already has) what he needs in life. And he’ll be damned if he ever lets her go.

 

**_Epilogue_ **

 

“Pay up.”

 

“C’mon Sash, we made that bet years ago, you can't-”

 

“Sorry pal, a bet's a bet. Give me your muffin.”

 

“Didn't we bet dinner?”

 

“If you say s -”

 

“No! It's a long way to your town, I need food, just -”

 

“Connie, just give her the muffin”

 

“Shut up over there! You're the reason I'm about to lose it.”

 

Eren just laughs in response, Mikasa smiling as he wraps his arm around her shoulder.

 

“Ugh! here..”

 

“Thank you!” She sings.

 

_Damn those lovey dovey shits._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put a lot of symbolism in here lol. I would like to envision the crowd as the eremika fandom when chapter 50 is animated :p  
> Thank you for reading!


	3. Outset

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a request I received from TitanKiller31!<3 Thank you! (and sorry for the long wait) This was originally going to be A LOT shorter, but I hope you enjoy it! There's a smidge of smut in this one heads up  
> Special thanks to the lovely little cookies who left comments and kudos :3

Partying was never a rare occassion. He’s become quite accustomed to the deafening volumes of crowds and music, the scent of spilt liquor ever present in the air, the thrill these events bring. But it doesn't feel the same. It wasn't that he minded a few strong glasses of alcohol or going out with his friends at night; It was actually the complete opposite. _He_ is usually the one to drag them out for a good time. Though, this isn't the type of “outing” he'd prefer. At least, not tonight.

Liquor sloshes wildly at the glass rim when a buff arm folds over his shoulders and he jolts, steadying his hand.

“Eren! W-whatya doin h -” _hiccup,_ “here by yourself? You should be over… wait, where is - oh! Over there dancing with some pretty ladies.” Reiner remains resolute through his lack of response, standing in front of him. “You, my friend,” Reiner begins, poking finger missing the center of his chest, “are officially single. It's time to party!”

He holds his laughter at Reiners coordination. Or lack thereof.

“Okay okay, I'll go in a bit, just let me finish my drink before you spill it all over me,” he smiles, giving the muscled man a few pats on the arm.

Reiner makes guns of his fingers, gesturing at him in a point - wink - click combination before taking his leave. Shaking his head is almost a reflex when he's with that man. He swirls the remaining alcohol to finish it, turning back towards the counter to set down the empty glass.

That's probably enough for tonight. Getting stupidly wasted didn't sound so appealing at the moment. He drops a couple bills into a tip jar, pondering over Reiner’s drunken suggestion. Yes, he was single now, but by no means in the mood to party. It seems too soon to be flirting with underdressed women who were only potential one night stands, something he had never been too keen on doing. What he needs is time away from girls.

He wishes Armin was here.

His elbows prop on the wooden surface behind him, alleviating the pressure of leaning his spine against it. Their night out was meant to take Eren’s mind off his too-sudden-ex, but as other couples dance and laugh and drink and smile, his thoughts steer to her, and how she would've been there on the floor, doing the same with her friends.

It's actually pretty lively for a Sunday night. Holy shit it's Sunday. Why is he still here? Responsibilities for the days following begin to overrun his thoughts when a pleasant floral scent finds its way into his nose, and if that doesn't make him turn his head, her voice does.

“Oh um, hello, can I get -” the bass of the club overpowers and the bartender cups his ear, prompting her to speak up. “Can I get a tanqueray and sonic?!... Single or double? Uh, single?”

He bits his lip, suppressing his laugh. Oh my god did she say sonic? Like the hedgehog?

She glances around the room, tapping her card a bit hastily.

She stands a couple seats down and even though he can't see her face fully, he thinks she's absolutely gorgeous.

What strikes him is that she's one of the few women here who didn't dress provocatively with flashy stilettos and caked makeup. One of the very few, if not the only one, who wasn't drunk and sweaty from dancing, who didn't try to flatter the bartender with feigned attraction and lean forward to purposely flash him for free drinks.

No, she isn't like that at all.

Instead, she pulls her burgundy cardigan tighter around herself and he wonders why she looks like he feels - uncomfortable, out of place. But that doesn't take away her aura of elegance. Her outfit, her intricate hairstyle, all the way down to her choice of jewelry - it's all cleverly simple. Perhaps that's why he's still staring at her, and he realizes a moment too late because now she's looking at him too and they stare at one another, gazes locking for a fleeting second -

“You don't do this often, do you?”

It's impulsive, he thinks, to talk to her but he had to save himself the impression of being an ogling creep, especially in front of someone who looks like her.

She tucks a stray section of dark hair behind her ear, breaking their eye contact, “How could you tell?”

“You didn't seem to know what a single and double was,” he responds, shifting to lean more onto the countertop, “and it's _tonic_  not sonic,” he adds.

She smiles faintly at that, cheeks dusting a pretty pink color, “you're right, I don't do this kind of thing, but I really need some right now.”

“You _need_ some?” The bartender sets down her glass on cue and she takes a long sip, face twisting into _something_ at the flavor. He keeps the guy there, ordering another drink for himself and just like that, his plan to abstain from alcohol for the night backfires, but he mentally shrugs. What the hell.

She pushes herself off the counter with one hand, drink in the other and he is both relieved and disappointed because she's leaving, ending their brief exchange. But she surprises him by doing the opposite; she moves closer and plants herself right next to him, getting comfortable before continuing.

“I think my date stood me up,” she coughs, taking another sip. Even though he faltered at _date,_ he jerks his head back some, face contorting in confusion. What man in his right mind would stand _her_ up? Hell, he's almost offended. “I've been here for an hour,” she sighs, propping her chin on her palm, “I called him but he didn't answer.”

That's… _shitty._

“Why don't you leave then?” It comes out a little blatant when he asks her and he puts his lips to the rim, attempting to cover his regret.

Grey eyes meet his, only to fall to her drink, polished nails playing with the sliced lime. Her crestfallen face makes him correct himself.

“I don't - I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way. I just don't think you should wait on some shitty guy.”

She drinks more, finishing with a grimace, “maybe he ran into some trouble with his car or something. I didn't want to just leave because he didn't show up right away. He might come,” she surmises, running a hand over her arm, cotton sleeve coiling with her movements. She sounds so unsure and really, _what man in his right mind would stand_ her _up?_ “He's not a shitty guy though.”

She calls to the barman, gently wiggling her empty glass for a refill.

He takes more of his own, the warmth of it trailing down his throat and into his system. She says it quite defensively and he can't help his next question. “Is he your boyfriend?”

Her embarrassed flush returns, deeper, “Uh, well no, he's a co-worker of mine,” she corrects, reaching to grab her now full glass. Shouts of orders and clicking cups fill the temporary pause in their conversation and they both use it as an opportunity to drink. “More like my boss really,” she adds in an afterthought. “He asked me to come here tonight.”

“This doesn't look like you're type of scene though.” It certainly isn't his. He swirls the brown liquid, ice clinking against the condensed glass. “You look a little uncomfortable.”

“It isn't,” she agrees, mimicking his actions, “but I've had… feelings for this guy for some time now. It's kind of pathetic really.” She says it a little quieter, embarrassed almost, like it's a secret for only his ears. He takes the seat next to her, head feeling heavier and the strength of her perfume forces his senses to focus solely on her. Funny how just minutes ago he didn't want to talk to anyone, much less a woman, but maybe - he'll make an exception for her. “We've been friends for a long time and… I just didn't want to blow it.”

“How would a pretty lady like yourself blow your chances with this guy?” He wants to blame the alcohol - and partially Reiner for using such cliche terms - for his rather flirtatious question but he's genuinely curious. How could she “blow her chance” with anyone? She smiles nevertheless and so does he, but it goes as quickly as it came.

“He doesn't seem to take much interest in me, but I could be wrong. I hope I am. Things could change…” her words trail off into silent thoughts of her own as she stares off, focusing on something beyond the expensive bottles before them.

They drink simultaneously, eventually finishing their strong beverages together and they both order more, listening to the nightclub as it continues its vibrancy. Eren catches Reiner in the corner of his eye and looks to him, frowning hard as his brawn friend gives a knowing smirk, relaying dirty messages with his hands.

“He likes to go to these kind of places anyway,” his silent interaction goes unnoticed by her and he almost misses what she says, “I would bore him if we went somewhere I wanted to go,” she laughs humorlessly. She doesn't realize that she's unintentionally adding to his bitterness because clearly she has feelings for this person _,_ and she's out of her comfort zone for _him,_ and she looks stunning (most probably) for _him,_ and she was sitting here alone, about to wait for god knows how long on a beautiful night _because of him._ Yet he's nowhere in sight.

Nope. Not a shitty guy at all.

“That can't be true.”

Another gulp and he becomes a bit more tipsy.

So does she.

“Where would you go, uuuh..?” He tucks his chin with a small twist, gesturing for her name.

“Mikasa,” she finishes with a tilt of her head, “and you are?” She holds her smile this time and he mirrors her.

“Eren,” He burps unapologetically. She giggles and his smile widens at the bell-like euphony.

“Well _Eren_ ,” she practically slurs, raising her thin brows as she leans closer, making his heart beat just a tad faster than the music, “I'm not sure that someone like yourself would care to know.”

He leans in too.

“Try me,” he dares.

Her eyes shine with drunken haze and she simpers. Her pretty pink lips part, accepting his implicit challenge -

“Mikasa! There you are!” She turns her head at the booming voice and just like that, the magic he was unconsciously under vanishes. He looks over her shoulder and the two watch as a man who could only be her love interest walks ostentatiously closer, waving as to make himself known. He thinks of himself a little desperate now for her attention, because the were having a moment and of course that guy chooses now of all times to show up. He's definitely _the_ shittiest guy, rightfully taking that title from Jean. For the time being.

The guy doesn't even look all that great. He looks stupid actually. The outfit he dons just screams “hit me and my daddy will sue” with twill shorts, a (untucked) pastel button up, umber boat shoes and he has sunglasses on top of his stupid gelled head. Fucking _sunglasses_ at night, inside a club. The ultimate cherry on top. He looks like he could star in some small toothpaste ad with a plastic smile and photoshopped teeth. No really, they legitimately look fake. But Mikasa turns back to him and her silver eyes shine significantly brighter as she stands, smoothing down her bangs and adjusting her cardigan over the pocketed tank top, finishing with a dust of her black shorts. He watches her and breathes in deeply, admiring how everything looks so lovely on her.

“Do I look okay?” _She's absolutely gorgeous._ He gives her a thumbs up and she grins, nodding her thanks as she abandons her seat to collect her things. She stumbles getting up, tittering at her own clumsiness and he assumes the gin has finally besotted her. It's odd that her actions make him laugh but his chest shakes with a familiar kind of pain as she walks away from him, towards sunglasses and - another woman?

The beat picks up, DJ increasing the volume, making the crowd whoop with drunken cheers and he can't hear anyone.

Mikasa seems to notice the lanky blonde when he does, because she stops mid-frolic and he can practically see the joy melting and dripping off limp hands as she treads noticeably slower with each dull step following. Her predicament clicks in his head and he feels pity because the guy has his arm wrapped around another woman's waist and Mikasa is shaking her hand in greetings. Another man (who must be twinning with sunglasses) comes from behind and fucking _Dandy Mott_ introduces the new person with a stupid gesture. Sunglasses leans forward and whispers something in Mikasa's ear, patting her back as they turn again towards their new companion. So polite she is, shaking their hands and he can imagine what she's feeling because she _waited for him_ , and even if he can't see her face, even if he hasn't even known her for more than fifteen minutes he just _knows_ she -

Takes too big a step backward, nods and points behind the three, skirting around as the group continues on. She starts toward the door and even though this isn't his business, isn't none of his concern, he is intoxicated and impulsive and upset.

He fumbles out of his seat, nearly knocking off both their cups when he reaches for his sweater, weaving through a blur of men and women with liquor sloshing inside his stomach almost dangerously. Another arm catches him and wraps around his neck, squeezing too - hard -

“Eren! Where are you going buddy?!”

“I don't know,” he chokes, twisting out of the hold, “but I'll be back, don't worry Connie!” That leaves him uncertain because truly, he doesn't know where he's going, or what he's doing, or if he will even keep his promise of return.

He persists anyway, purposely bumping into sunglasses as hard as he can, immaturely yelling at him to _watch where you're going,_ the group’s offended yells going ignored as he squeezes between an entering couple. He stops to catch his breath, balancing his shaky hands on equally shaky knees as he adjusts to this new setting. The night is cooled by the gentle summer breeze and green irides shift around for a maroon sweater, music muffling behind the closing door.

He spots her wobbling at the corner of the building and when she doubles over to hold her stomach, he jogs over. The instant he reaches Mikasa she is vomiting, and all he can do is hold her hair back as her stomach empties its contents, careful not to disturb the braids and gentle curls, shielding her from unwanted attention. He tries but fails to ignore the stares burning through his back, the whispered comments of passersby.

When she is done and spent, she nearly tumbles but he is quick to catch her, more than willing to be her support in place of unsteady legs. She leans onto him heavily, clutching both his biceps with her dainty hands, shoulders convulsing and he stills when tears begin to stain his shirt.

He is a clueless, semi-hammered fool.

He didn't know what to expect once he caught up with her, but in any case, he's not good dealing with emotional women, especially now with a heart he didn't even break. He really wishes Armin was here now. But no amount of wishing will grant him that, so he does his utmost to fill the shoes of his blonde friend.

“Mikasa, are you alright?” the words escape and he wants to smack himself, because her crush is wrapped around another woman and she has vomited and she is crying and is obviously _not_ okay.

She doesn't speak right away, but when she does, it's in tearful, delusive shards.

“Yeah I'm _\- hic -_ I'm okay. I just - I mean I should've - _hic_ \- just done what you said. I should've just _left - hic -”_

Yes. She should've.

“But I can think of a reason why you shouldn't have.”

He leans down to level his mouth with her ear and puts a soothing hand on her back, right between her shoulder blades, wrapping his other arm around the small of her back.

Is this too intimate? He awkwardly reasons that complete strangers _sleep_ with each other so he permits himself to move closer.

“Mikasa,” he says lowly into her ear, “I know it hurts… and it may sound a bit harsh but…” he tries his best to be gentle, put together his words and lay them down in a manner he's not used to at all, “now you know, and… you don't have to waste time waiting on him anymore,” her shoulders stop their jerky movements, “it won't be easy, but you can definitely move forward and forget about him. He doesn't… he doesn't deserve someone like you.” His ex flashes into his mind.

She says nothing in response, and he tells himself to be patient and understand because he knows what this feels like. To wait and hope for someone who you think is amazing, only to be put aside and forgotten. He knows exactly what this heartbreak feels like. He's hardly finished picking up the pieces of his own. Her sobs dwindle to periodic sniffles and they both just stand in their awkward embrace, until his voice cuts through the whirring cars and muffled bass. He gives her back a few rubs, putting some distance between them.

“You know,” he starts, tugging at his sleeve and her long lashes flutter as he goes to wipe trails of melted mascara from under her eyes. He is sure they are both still tipsy as the night is young, and it's exactly why he continues, “you never finished telling me where you'd like to go.”

Miraculously, she smiles, albeit a little lopsided.

“I don't think someone like yourself would care to know,”  She echoes tearfully.

He looks at her. Really looks at her and sees insecurity through dull charcoals, sheen with dissipating tears. He is never the affectionate type. Never sugar coats his words or wastes time trying to fix something that doesn't need, much less involve him. But this _something_ is different. This _someone_ is different.

“Try me.”

~•~

He leads them away from the club before she says anything. He has no idea where he's going, but maybe walking will give her time to calm first. He grabs her hand with an encouraging tug and she follows, wiping the remainder of her tears away.

There aren't too many people on the excessively lit street and somehow, the ambiance of it helps alleviates the dampened mood, even if only a little. Although, the lingering scent of gas and fast food make him a little nauseous, and he probably wasn't the only one.

Mikasa walks carefully, eyes attentive to each step and he is surprised she is walking straight after her little incident. He clears his throat and lets go of her hand as they walk alongside each other, setting a slow pace.

“How about this,” he offers when their silence persists, pushing his hands into jean pockets, “let’s make this into -” _burp,_ “ugh - scuse me. Make this into a little challenge.”

She scrunches her brows lightly, “Challenge?”

“Mhmm,” he drags the sound, stepping in front of her, staggering backward.

“Instead of you telling me where, I have to guess where. I won't say it out loud, but I’ll take you to a place and you tell me if I'm right or wrong.”

“There're too many places Eren, we’d be walking forever. You don't know much about me either.”

“That's where you come in,” he points to her and she blinks, “You give me hints along the way.”

“What kind of hints?”

“Anything” he shrugs, “except riddles. We’ll really be walking around all night if I try to solve one.” They stare at one another until he grins, “So how about it?”

She presses her lips together, taking a huge breath, “okay,” she exhales, “If you guess correctly, then what? Is there some reward?”

He pauses, inclining his chin in thought.

“I think I’ll leave that for you to decide,” he winks, making her look away with a blush. She looks back to him, opening her mouth to speak, but something at his feet catches her eye and all that escapes is a gasp and his name.

“Eren, watch -”

He barely registers her warning before he’s tripping over the uneven sidewalk, limbs flailing and hitting another as he falls, stars flashing behind his lids when his skull collides with concrete.

“Augh! _Watch where you're going_ ,” a scratchy voice bites, “Dumbass.”

Karma really is a bitch, isn't it?

“Eren! Are you okay?” She’s immediately next to him, helping him sit up, tentatively placing her hands on his head pressing ever so lightly, probably checking for blood. His elbows have heavily scraped against the pavement and if his head wasn't still woozy from drinking, he's sure he would’ve felt the right amount of pain.

“Yeah,” he grunts, steadying himself to stand, “C’mon, let's get going.” He takes a step and the world spins, almost tipping him over but she takes a hold of him, latching onto his arm to support his body despite her lack of her own balance.

“Let me help you,” she proffers, looping their arms together. It’s comical to think that minutes before it was him steadying her, and how quickly the tables have turned on him. Normally, he would protest but she smells so good and he can feel warmth through the thin material of their sleeves. Normally he would, but they're a both a little unsteady. They seem to balance each other out just fine this way.

“Flowers,” she says after a couple minutes of walking.

“Huh?”

“I really love flowers,” she tells him. She continues at his confused frown, “you wanted hints right?”

“Oh - right, sorry,” _what an idiot_ , “I guess I hit my head harder than I thought.”

She snorts and tightens her hold on his arm.

“Flowers huh… what's your favorite?” He tugs on her arm, guiding her across the street. It's a bit obvious, but maybe there's more to it.

“I have a lot of favorites, but if I had to pick one, I’d say peonies.”

“Those are beautiful,” he nods, looking over street names, “although they require quite the care if they're self-grown. I personally like lilies.” he feels her looking at him and he turns, meeting her eyes.

He halts, “What?”

She blinks a couple times, snapping out of... whatever she's in, “nothing,” she assures, tucking back a tendril as they continue, “I just didn't think you would know what that is. There's some girls I know that have never heard of it, let alone a guy.”

“My mother is a florist. I used to help her in her shop when I was a kid. Those flowers always attracted brides more than anything.” He always struggled arranging them neatly, no matter how many times his mother would demonstrate. “It was nice being there.”

“That is nice,” she agrees, “That’s what I wanted when I was a child. Having a flower shop I mean. My mom had a garden of her own, and she took me out with her and taught me a lot.”

“What were her favorites?”

She looks ahead fondly before meeting his eyes again, “lilies.”

“Really? O-M-G You're mom and I are _totally_ twinsies.” The bells in her laugh ring softly, making him feel lighter with satisfaction.

“Speaking of flowers,” he walks faster, dragging her by their linked arms before he stops in front of a building. “Ta-da!” he nods his head toward the flower shop, arm outstretched in presentation, “eh? Eh?”

Her mouth twitches upward and she partly covers her mouth, hiding her laugh as she shakes her head no.

He pouts, arm falling limp. “I figured. Well,” he claps, “since we’re here, let's have a quick look inside.” He doesn't wait for her answer, untangling their arms to grab her wrist, towing her behind.

A light jingle sounds and a lady greets them from behind the counter. The mixed tinge of multiple flowers instantly fill his nose, making him feel twelve years old and he can see himself, struggling to carry those dumb bags of soil to the back.

“I'm surprised one is even open this late,” she whispers in awe, taking in the various amounts of foliage.

“Go ahead,” he nudges, “take a look around.” She complies and she wanders farther inside, her distance allowing him his chance.

“‘Mrs. Kirschtein,” he mummers and the petite woman hums, looking up from her sweeping and he checks again for Mikasa. “Do you have any bouquets ready to sell?”

“Well of course we do dear,” she smiles, “come.” Mikasa is still turned around, leaning down to smell some carnation roses. The woman leads him around the back, pushing the swinging door forward and allowing him in first. “These are the ones we have -”

“I'll take those,” he points.

“The peonies? Why they were one of the last ones I arranged today,” she sighs rather proudly. “Are they for your lady in front?”

“Something like that,” he responds, picking up the flowers. “Could I give you the money here? I want them to be a surprise.”

“It's okay, Eren, take them. Tell your mother that things were okay while she was out.”

“Awh thanks,” he says, embracing the aged woman. “I’ll tell her, don't worry. I owe you one.”

She wraps her arms around him and when she whiffs audibly, he cringes.

“You smell like something, Eren Jaeger. Something indeed,” she looks at him with a suspicious glint and he stutters, promising to explain later.

When he comes back around with the flowers hidden behind his back, Mikasa is still distracted, poking at a stuffed bear. He pauses right before her, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“Reeeeady to go?” Her curls bounce as she jumps, twisting around to face him.

“Oh, y-yeah I'm ready.”

He holds the door open for her, waving goodbye to his childhood friend on the way out, mouthing his goodnight.

She adjusts the ebony strap of her purse over her shoulder, still oblivious to his little present. He lets her take a few steps ahead, let's her notice him lagging and holds the bouquet close to his sternum.

She turns around and is perplexed for the smallest of moments before onyx eyes widen, astonishment painting across her features.

“Eren,” she breathes, “how - why did -”

“They're your favorite right?” He waves them almost tauntingly, holding them out to her, “Go on, take them.”

She grasps the stems as if they are glass - delicately, slowly, and her fingers trail over the ivory silk holding them neatly together. She smiles, teeth and all, delicately pushing her tiny nose between the plethora of multi-colored petals, and he thinks the pale hues complement the beige tone of her skin.

“They suit you,” he coughs, rubbing behind his head. “That asshole made you cry… And uh, I wanted to make you feel better, you know?” Crimson blooms on the tops of her cheeks and she buries her face deeper into the flowers, almost covering her face completely and he barely catches her stifled thanks behind the petals. He tells her it's no problem, extending his arm out for her to take.

“C’mon. We got somewhere to be.” She doesn't hesitate to link their arms together once more and she closes the space between them, warmth branching from where they touch.

“What is it that you do now?”

“Hmm?”

“You said you wanted a shop as a child,” he reminds, “are you working towards that, or are you doing something else?”

“I’m an elementary school teacher,” she answers and he hums in acknowledgment, nodding slowly. “Which means I work with _children._ ” She exaggerates the word and he literally takes the hint.

Flowers and children… park? Playground? Come to think of it, he didn't live very far from there. Couple blocks at the most.

“It's summer, though,” she sighs, looking off to the side, “I'm still looking for a temporary job to help my roommate with rent. Until school starts back up.”

Huh.

“How about my mom's shop?”

She waits for him to say something else, halting when he doesn't. “Wait - seriously...?”

“Yeah, why not? She's been… kinda sick lately and she could use the help. Would... you like to?”

“Oh, um yeah! That sounds - awesome,” she laughs, “where is it at?”

He points behind them and she gapes. “That was your mom’s shop?”

He nods with a grin and she complements the shop before thanking him over and over, relief taking over her expression. He waves her off, realizing that he just gave a job for a shop that isn't even his. He can easily sway his mom. Maybe.

“What is it that you do, Eren?”

He smirks.

“How about _you_ do some guessing,” he tosses back, making her playfully roll her eyes. “I can't have all the fun.”

“Alright,” she huffs, balancing her flowers on her forearm. “Occupational therapist,” she guesses.

“What the hell is that?”

“Never mind, uh… nurse?”

“Nope.”

“Dentist?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Proctologist.” That one makes him snort.

“What's up with the medical stuff?” He laughs.

“I don't know, Eren, you strike me as that kind of guy,” she groans, bumping her hip against his.

“My father _did_ want me to go into the medical field, but it's just not my thing,” he shrugs.

“Okay fine, nothing medical. Engineer?”

“I wouldn't call it that.”

“... Mechanic?”

“Yes,” he only lets her cheer for a second, “on some days.” He shakes with laughter when she throws her head back in exasperation.

“Okay I'm halfway there, uh -”

Quick, loud honks make them both jerk forward, almost making Mikasa drop her flowers.

“Yo Eren!” He recognizes the voice instantly. The couple turn, tracing the greetings back to a waving cop.

“Hannes?”

“Hey! What are you up to kiddo?”

“Hey Hannes,” Eren laughs a bit nervously, both walking towards him. This man is bound to embarrass him. “Oh me? Uh, I'm just walking.”

“Uh-huh. Who's your lady friend?” Damn it you old man.

“This is Mikasa,” he introduces reluctantly, “Mikasa, Hannes - Hannes, Mikasa.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you sweetheart,” he grins and she nods. He looks back to Eren sternly, “Though, I don't think Sarah will take to kindly of you being with this young woman.”

His jaw clenches, “We’re… not together anymore.”

“Seriously? what did you do this time boy?”

Mikasa looks to him, confused.

 

“Uh, I'll tell you later old man, I'm going somewhere,” what he would do not talk about her right now, “so I'll catch you another time.” He places his hand on Mikasa's arm, guiding her away.

“Where are you youngins off to? I could give you a ride.” Eren stops, shoulders sagging with exaggeration, “that is, if you need it.”

~•~

Getting in the car with Hannes of all people was probably the last thing Eren wanted. But in his defense, the park was at _least_ an hour and a half walk. It was kind of early, but not _that_ early.

“You alright back there kiddo?”

“Tch. Of course _you_ would put me back here like I'm a criminal.”

“You can't have Mikasa back there by herself. Besides, you ride in these cars all the time. Give it a rest.”

Mikasa twists her torso, facing him with shocked eyes.

“You ride in cop cars _all_ the time?”

“No! I mean - yes I do, but not like a delinquent,” he sighs, dropping his head as he rubs the side of his neck, “it's cheating, but it was going to come out anyway. I'm a police officer.” They ride through a tunnel when he tells her, darkness veiling over them, but when light hits her face again, she looks impressed.

“No wonder you helped me out, officer friendly.”

“That title,” he complains.

She closes her eyes with a roll of her shoulders, facing forward. She studies the interior, leaning over the technology, “I've never been inside a cop car before.”

“Well now,” Hannes grunts, fumbling with the compartment, “ I reckon that earns youuu,” he drags, pulling out a sucker, “a lollipop!”

She sighs in delight and takes the candy, unwrapping it as she respectfully gives thanks to their driver.

“Don't I get one?”

Hannes looks at him through the rearview, “need I remind you how we met?”

Yeah how about no.

The ride is virtually silent for the next fifteen minutes and the gentle rumble of the car makes his eyes droop and limbs slack. Mikasa and Hannes converse in a hushed tone, like they know he's falling asleep. He was only out for what felt like a minute when the car stops abruptly, scaring him awake with a sharp jerk.

“What the hell old man?!” The pair in front throw into a fit of giggles.

“You're here.” Eren rubs his eyes, taking a look outside the window for any more of Hannes’ jokes but indeed they are.

“I don't appreciate the rude awakening, but thank you for the ride.”

“No problem. I'll see you around the station sometime okay?”

“Alright. Goodnight, Hannes.”

“Goodnight kiddo, and goodnight to ya too, Mikasa,” he holds his hand up in goodbye.

“Goodnight Hannes, thank you for the candy,” she smiles, waving the finished treat.

“You kids stay safe now.”

He and Mikasa step out of the car and onto the sidewalk, waving as the car pulls away.

“Well?” Eren questions, looking into the dimly lit park.

“You're getting warmer.” She says, walking onto the newly cut grass. He follows her, inclining his chin to view the sky through shadows of branches and leafs.

“It looks like a handful of glitter was sprinkled across the sky.”

He tilts his face to her and she is looking up, starry grey observing the equally astral sky. Something whirs from above, slowly increasing in volume and he scans the sky above him until he sees it; a plane flying too close for his liking and he ducks stupidly, almost shielding himself but she calms him, reminding him of the airport nearby. He apologizes, cheeks flaring red in embarrassment but she says it's fine, thinking nothing of it.

His phone buzzes audibly and he wrestles it out of his pocket, jeering lightly at the nearly inscrutable text from Connie. He types and sends his reply, shoving his phone in his back pocket.

“Hannes told you where we were going, didn't he?”

She puts her fist to her mouth and laughs through her nose, shaking shoulders synced with little puffs of air, “You're not a very good whisperer.” He can't help a pout, but to be honest, he wasn't a very quiet person in general, so he couldn't argue there. He tried using the slammed door to cover it, but obviously it wasn't loud enough. “He did tell me how you two met though.” _Damn it old man._ “You were quite the troublemaker weren't you?”

“I got into a few fist fights at the _most_ . I swear I wasn't _that_ bad. Hannes exaggerates too much.”

“He seems sweet.”

Eren kicks a couple twigs at his feet, dipping his fingers into his pockets, “yeah… he’s a good guy.” He won't admit it out loud but Hannes is almost like a second father to him. He's the one who made him want to join the force.

“Any new hints?”

She puts a thumb and middle finger to her chin, tapping her index finger against her cheek. “When I was younger, my parents and I used to live in a place that had a lot of _hills_. There was never a day I didn't come home with grass stains on my dress and leaves stuck in my hair,” She laughs quietly. “My mother hated cleaning out those stains.”

“My mom did the same for me. I would come home with dirt stains and scrapes and bruises from school and she’d always scold me. Her favorite thing to do was pull on my ears,” he chuckles, looking around for his next guess.

“No wonder they're so long,” she jokes and he shoves her lightly before pulling up his hood. She tells him she's kidding and gently pulls off the hood when they come across swings, old little things that he vaguely remembers playing on and it's Mikasa who walks to them first.

“Are we here?”

“Not yet, but…” She runs her hand along the slightly rusted chain, “I haven't done this in a while.” She turns to him with a grin, “Here, get on, I’ll push you.”

“Shouldn't I be the one pushing you?”

She rolls her eyes, “Men and their gender roles. You've done more than enough for me. Really, It's okay,” she insists, “...Please?”

He's so glad they are only surrounded by trees and darkness.

“Okay,” he gives in, a little hesitant.

Almost giddily, she sets down her flowers along with her purse atop another set of swings as he takes his seat and she goes to stand behind him.

“Ready?” He gives her a thumbs up and she nods. He feels the thin shape of her hands on his back and she pushes softly at first, letting him gain some momentum and he begins to speed up. Soon, she leaves him to swing on his own and she joins him, hopping onto the seat over, catching up to his speed rather quickly and it becomes an unspoken battle of who can swing the highest. He plays dirty, reaching out and tugging at her chains and she yelps as she spins in different directions. He cheers in victory, but it's short-lived when she collides into him, making her accident almost as purposeful when his cheers become something of shock and defeat. Through their hiss of pain, they are laughing like children, hollering as their chains tangle into a terrible mess. Their fun is cut short when something inside his stomach lurches and he swears, jumping off the seat and running to a nearby tree.

Mikasa’s yells are lost as he leans against the bark and vomits.

Tears collect at the corners of his eyes and not seconds later he feels her hands at his back again, rubbing gently as he coughs, the dizziness of it all making him fall on his ass.

And then he is laughing.

Laughing like he’s just heard the funniest joke in the world, falling onto his back and she is perplexed. He must look like some kind of maniac, but then she snorts, laughing with him and he can only laugh harder. Everything about tonight makes him feel like he's known her his entire life as they sit there and laugh with and at each other; two grown adults, rolling around in a park at night, giggling at everything and nothing.

“Holy shit,” he wheezes.

“You're - a weirdo -”

It takes five minutes before they actually calm down and sit up straight, coughing out the last of their laughs.

“I wasn't as sober as I thought I was,” he admits, wiping moisture from his eyes.

“Neither of us were sober to begin with.”

“We should be now. Somewhat at least,” he surmises, picking off a couple leaves from her hair, “both of us have officially puked our guts out,” he grunts, leaning onto the tree to stand.

“You think you’re okay to walk?”

“I’ll be fine, let’s go,” he pants, finally catching his breath. He waits while she runs to grab her belongings, deciding then to test his balance with a couple weary steps, followed by stronger, more steady ones. He spits, wincing at the burning sensation on the back of his tongue and she is at his side, holding out a two swirl mints.

“Hannes told me to give these to you.”

“He did?” He takes them from her hands, unwrapping one to pop it in his mouth with desperation. It’s like that old man knew these would come in handy. But… knowing him, the mints were probably for a whole different reason. Warmth spreads across the bridge of his nose and he clears his throat.

“Mhmm. I told him what you did for me… and he said that _now_ you've earned your share of candy.”

He moves the round sweet between the insides of his cheeks, “What I did couldn't have been all that special.” He walks slowly thinking nothing of his comment until she matches his pace, catching his palm in hers.

“But it was. I could've been home, drunk and depressed in pajamas with a tub of ice cream. But you were so sweet and considerate of me.” She raises her flowers to her nose again, “being out with you made me forget that I was ever in that club, and…” she meets his gaze and there is a fondness twinkling within her irises, something bright that reminds him of the sky above, “I'm having more fun than I thought I would. So,” she twines their fingers resting her head upon his shoulder and he fucking _prays_ he doesn't stink from his incident just minutes ago, “Thank you, really. You _do_ deserve those,” she teases and something sparks within his heart. Something he thought he'd forgotten long ago, that ephemerally renders his mind blank.

She clears her throat in a awkward fashion and he stammers.

“Y-yeah, uh it's not - I mean - um it's no problem. I'm having a lot of fun too.” He curls his fingers, pressing them against each of her knuckles, rubbing over the long material of her sleeve. Their hands are sandwiched between them and his teeth gnaw at his bottom lip, trying to ignore how soft the skin along her thigh is and he internally groans as it brushes against his hand with each step.   

“You’re getting closer,” she hints. He looks around, trying to _focus_ and he thinks back to her clue.

Hill hill hill hill hill -

He sees it; a lone hill that is practically centered within the park, with one old oak tree sitting on it's curve, perfectly positioned behind a wooden bench. She pulls him along, and he follows mindlessly, walking up the grassy slope. And then the loud noise is back, whirring above him and he flinches, unconsciously moving closer to her. She squeezes his fingers with her own and he calms, a little embarrassed still. They both adjust themselves as they sit; him, laying an arm behind her and across the top of the backrest, and her, leaning back, crossing her ankles.

“So, this is where you wanted to go?”

“This is one of the places.”

“Why did you choose this one out of all of them?”

She runs her fingers over the petals and when a particularly strong wind gusts over them, her bangs blow back and she shivers. He scolds himself for completely forgetting she's wearing shorts and he unzips his sweater, placing it along her legs and fixing her own over the bony points of her shoulders. He rubs over her arm, trying to warm her up and he becomes stiff again when she shuffles closer, letting him put his arm around her.

“I wanted to come here with you.” She faces the night sky, pearly greys shifting along it.

“It’s… _ahem_ \- peaceful here.” He hasn't felt this self conscious since he first met Sarah.

He feels more than he hears her hum, “This is the best time to be here. No people or anything. I don't really know what it is, but there's something so mesmerizing about watching planes land and take off. I wonder where they're going… if they ever come back.” Silence settles and he tries to think of something to talk about when he looks down and notices her lashes, marveling at how long they are.

“Eren?” he almost jumps, quickly averts his eyes elsewhere.

“Ah, yeah?”

“I'm just wondering...what um,” she sounds hesitant, a cautious edge in her tone, “what happened with you and Sarah?”

Shit.

He should've anticipated that. He drops his head forward, playing with the rip on his pant leg atop his knee. There's no escape route now.

“I-I’m sorry, I shouldn't have asked -”

“No no, it's fine, um.” Time to make himself look like a dumbass yet again. “It's a little bit of a long story, but… I'll tell you,” He clears his throat, beginning the tale of his ignorance.

“Well, she and I were dating for… about a year and a half? That sounds about right. Anyways, it was great, being with her you know? We spent most of our time together and we had _a lot_ in common,” he smiles, “probably too much for our own good. I remember being so nervous for her to met my mom, and I honestly thought she was the one. But after being together for a year, she started acting weird.”

He doesn't look at Mikasa, but he knows she's listening, waiting patiently for him to keep going.

“The change was subtle at first, but every now and then she would have these little rampages and would complain about the littlest things, like why I bought certain things she thought were unnecessary, or why I sometimes came home late. She wanted me to quit my job and even accused me of cheating on her at different points. She wanted to go through my phone and we had arguments over it. I’m not talking about petty little scuffles. The neighbors on my street would have noise complaints. We would take breaks here and there and it was awful. But I always found myself coming back to her. I wouldn't that come between us cause I thought I was better than that. I thought _we_ were better than that. But one day, I insulted her. Called her a control freak and _by god_ she was pissed. We didn’t talk for a couple of days at the least, and… after thinking about it, I decided to go and apologize… and if you knew me long enough, you'd know I _never_ apologize so easily. But I felt like it was my fault. For making her walk out.”

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, brows furrowing.

“I was getting off of work and I had gone and got her favorite chocolates. I was parked right outside, ready to put aside my stupid pride and get her back. But when I got out the car, another man -” his face turns sour, scrunching up at the memory, “another man was walking out, half naked, pulling his shirt back on… and he smirked at me. And she,” he chuckles humorlessly, hands fisting, “that _woman_ was at the door, in the same state that junkie was and she _looked_ at me, right in the eye. I waited for her to say something, to tell me that it wasn't what it looked like, but you know what she did?”

He looks at Mikasa and it's like she's already figured out the answer because there's pity in her expression; the slight frown with the sad eyes and knit brows, just saying _I feel sorry for you._ She blinks slowly, letting him speak.

Another strong gust.

“She closed the door. Didn't spare me one word of explanation. She gave the blankest look and she locked the door. And yesterday was the fucking cherry on top. Because luckily for me, I ran into one of her friends at the store and I tried to cut the conversation short and leave, but she pleaded to talk. And it was like she opened a new can of worms for me.” This girl knew from the beginning that Sarah was playing him and he wonders how anyone can keep silent about that. How could she watch her friend sneak and lie from afar and hang back like nothing is wrong. He doesn't even know if can accept her apology just yet.

His eyes start to water and he _despises_ how much this affects him. He feels Mikasa place a hand on top of his clenched one and for the second time that night, she twines her fingers through his shaking ones and he lets her. Because the wound is still fresh and no one else has offered their comfort the way she has. He sniffles and she draws circles on his skin at the sound, leaning onto him and the weight of her resting at his side helps lift the profound pressure over his chest, a pressure that has been for weeks now.

“Apparently,” he tries, clearing his tightening throat, “she had been seeing another for a while. I'm guessing their relationship started when she began changing on me. And… now she's pregnant, with that guy's kid.” What Sarah didn't know is that he dreamed about her that way. That sometimes he pictured her, lying in his bed, rubbing both of their hands over the perfect swell of life they could have created.

But the thing is, he will never regret her not knowing.

Because if she had gotten pregnant while they were dating, he doesn't doubt that she would have lied about whose it was, or - in the worst case - even gotten rid of the child. Even though he'd rather not see her again, he thanks her because if it wasn't for that accident, he would've still been pining after her, foolishly unaware and miserable. But why?

“Why didn't she love me anymore? I was so head over heels for her, and she left me. Maybe I should have had tried harder to make her happy you know? Should have tried harder to keep us together -”

Mikasa throws her arms around his neck, effectively cutting him off and he can feel her shaking her head.

“Don’t blame yourself. Please. You've done everything you could and you mustn't be thinking about ‘what ifs’. She is the one who should have worked harder for you because it's her that doesn't deserve the genuine compassion of someone like you. I know that I'm not much of help but… I'm so so sorry, Eren.” She returns to her initial spot at his side, placing her cool hand over his. “Please don't blame yourself.” He puts his right hand over their joined ones, acknowledging her sympathy, setting his cheek on the crown of her head. They stay like this, listening to the melody of the night and it's bittersweetly refreshing to vent and be here, taking in fresh air, the new sight. A drop falls to his hand and he reaches up to wipe his eye, only to find that it already dried.

Another. And another.

On his arm.

His face.

Her cheek, and both sit up, stretching a hand out and it's really their lucky day. A rumble of thunder comes and they look at one another, with only one word in mind:

“Fuck.”

~•~

Okay, so _maybe_ his home wasn't just “a couple” blocks away.

“Thank god your place wasn't _too_ far,” she pants sarcastically, leaning on her knees as he shuts the door.

“Sorry.”

For an officer, he's so out of shape. He's chased people before, but Jesus. It was never _that_ long of a run. He inspects his phone, testing the buttons when he hears the clattering of her teeth and he runs to shut off the AC, returning with a towel. He hands it to her, walking a little past her to glance outside. “Doesn't look like it's going to lighten up anytime soon,” he pants.

“H-hey uh, Eren?”

He hums, still watching the rain.

“Can I stay here tonight?”

His throat dries and eyes widen. He turns and gawks at her, processing the sudden request, but she misinterprets his silence.

“It's just that... it's pouring outside and since it's kind of late I didn’t want to call anyone or make you drive. It's fine if you don -”

“No no!” she jolts, “sorry, I mean… it's alright, Mikasa. You're more than welcome to stay here tonight. I have work later on in the morning and I can give you a ride home. If that's fine with you.”

She sighs in relief. “That's more than fine. Thank you, really.”

He nods, tugging her flowers and purse from her hands, “Here, how about we set your things on the table, and I’ll be right back with some clothes.” He doesn't wait for her to answer, leaving her dripping in his living room.

He picks a set of clothing out for both of them before grabbing a couple extra blankets. He quickly changes, setting aside his soaked clothes and comes out with his hands full, setting the mixed layers of cotton and linen neatly on the couch, turning to face a shivering Mikasa, fumbling with her phone.

“You still okay?”

“Hm? Oh - yeah, I'm just sending a quick message to my roommate.” He makes a sound of understanding, stepping closer.

“Here you go,” he says, placing pajamas in her waiting arms, “Bathroom is over there,” he points behind them, walking into the kitchen. She murmurs her thanks, disappearing into the hall. Inside his kitchen, he puts out a decent sized pot, scouring his cabinets for chicken soup cans. He moves things around impatiently, because goddammit he went shopping yesterday and - “Ah, here we go.”

He begins humming while he readies the soup and he wonders why the hell he's so calm. Content even. Barely an hour ago he was sitting on a bench crying and now he's here, humming an old song his mother used to play as he cooks food. Well, heats up food. He’s not much of a cook.

Mikasa comes out soon enough and she walks quietly into the kitchen, watching as he adjusts the flame. “I left my clothes to hang on your shower door, is that alright?”

“Totally, and you're just in time for dinner,” he claps.

“Chicken soup?”

“Uh huh. I can't have you falling sick on me. Again.”

“You're the one to talk.”

“Oh, shush.”

A pause.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Um, you could grab a couple bowls from that cabinet, and spoons…” He points the corner opposite of them, “are in that drawer.”

She grabs them accordingly and he continues his humming as he stirs. Then, to his surprise, she hums along with him. He keeps going, to see if he's just imagining things, but no. She follows the melody, matching each pitch.

“You know that song?”

She turns, “I do. It was one of my dad’s favorites.”

“Really? It was my mom's favorite!” that smile of hers is back and he wonders how an expression could be so contagious. He starts up the song again, only this time, he's actually singing. Horribly at that. She laughs as he turns the song to her and when she starts to sing, he is baffled. Unlike his verse, the words come out softer, more in tune and it's so so lovely. It's only interrupted when the broth begins boiling over and Mikasa covers her mouth, pointing behind him.

“Shit!” He twists the knobs to shut off the flame, sighing as it simmers down to light bubble.

“This is why I don't cook,” he grumbles.

She hisses through her teeth, grabbing the roll of towels. He reaches out for them but instead she grabs his hand.

“How about this,” she offers, pulling him into the living room by the wrists, “I can finish in the kitchen, and why don't you relax for a bit?”

“Alright,” he sighs after some consideration, “I’ll let you handle it.” She pats his wrists and they go in opposite directions. Several minutes later and she sets their soup on the coffee table, joining him on the sofa.

“What are you watching?” she fixes the blanket and bowl over her lap, waiting as he finishes doing the same.

“I’m not sure actually. This channel plays movies all the time and I’ve never recognize any of them.”

The film on the screen can't be any older than the fifties, but the black and white doesn't make it any more recent either. They both commentate on the main characters and the plot actually reminds him of a play he was once in. He tells her as much and she is surprised, saying how he doesn't look like the drama type. The recollection leads to a conversation filled with stories from each, both recent and old, the screenplay forgotten.

~•~

Two and a half movies.

Two and a half movies have run through their conversation and when they both yawn, he decides to call it a night.

He readjusts the sheets over the couch for himself before shutting off the tv as she cleans up their dishes (she is unrelentless). He leads her to his room afterward, catching the time on their way and he still can't believe how much time they spent just talking.

“There's extra blankets in the cabinet here. If you need anything you can wake me up.”

“Are you sure?” She yawns, “I can stay on the couch, it's fine, really -”

He curls his fingers over her shoulders, leaning down to level their eyes, “ _really_ Mikasa, it's okay. I'll be alright.” She bites her lip but nods, looking back into the room.

“Well,” he whispers, taking a couple steps back, “Good night Mikasa.”

“Wait, uh,” he doesn't fully turn when she moves swiftly, capturing him in a tight embrace and he knows what she's about to say.

“Thank you, Eren. For tonight.” He's never met anyone as grateful a she is and he smiles, wrapping his arms around her with a small squeeze.

Is she wearing a bra? He curses himself for wondering such a thing, shaking his head as he clears his throat.

“Thank _you._ ”

She pulls back, confused, “For what?”

“I guess for… spending time with me, even though we’d never met before. Believe it or not, you helped me out too.”

She looks to him coyly, reaching up to tuck hair behind her ear, but he beats her to it, gliding two fingers over the shell of her and all at once the atmosphere shifts. Temptation guides his hand over the heated curve of her neck and he can't help but run his fingers over the softness, making her almond eyes close with the subtlest of sighs. Their movements are measured and quiet as he guides her face to his, lashes fluttering as her air drifts over his mouth and when their noses brush, he realizes that it's _this_ he's been anticipating.

His palm smooths past the dip of her waist, flattening against the small of her back and when their lips meet, he is intoxicated all over again.

He presses her against the wall like he kisses her - slowly, gradually, using every drop of patience because he’ll be damned if he screws this up. Their mouths are pliant with each kiss, every sigh against the flush of skin only deepening his desire. His lips travel like dew drops, caressing and sliding leisurely from the corner of her mouth to the underside of her jaw and along her thrashing pulse, each kiss punctuated by her shaky, mellow breaths.

She unwraps her arms from his neck, dropping and pressing her palms against his hips to pull and grind against him with sensual purpose, his groan muffled into the marked slant of her neck. Her actions spur him on and he decides to be bold, running his hands down down down to shape out the curvature of her shoulders, her spine, her ass and farther until he cups her thighs through loose pants. She reads his movements and jumps into waiting arms, hooking her ankles over the backs of his knees, breathing sharply when he presses her harder into the wall. Her fingers are in his hair, nails scratching lightly through tangled strands and goosebumps trickle along his arms, making him feel like it's his first time. He tries to reign his excitement, slowing down with a prolonged kiss to her cheek, and another over her ear.

“Is this my reward?” He laughs airily, lightly biting over the lobe.

She pants and tightens her grip on his hair, making him hiss through his amusement. She returns the favor, moving her lips over his face and when she sucks ardently on his neck, it's almost a sin to stop her. He does though, voice taking a serious, more hesitant tone.

“Are you sure?”

In truth, a part of him is afraid that she will regret coming with him because he did not bring her here with this intention. And while she is undeniably attractive, they barely met just hours ago. He doesn't want to move in accordance of his raging hormones and take more than she is willing to give. But she smiles, cheeks colored the hues of her flowers, reaches to cup the sides of his face to press the simplest of kisses to both his bottom and upper lip and he has to resist the urge to deepen them.

“Stay with me.”

He nuzzles her button nose with the tip of his own and she nuzzles back, eyes droopy.

“Okay.”

He carries her inside the room, sitting on the edge of the mattress to keep her in his lap. She resumes her ministrations, trading sweetness for passion as she kisses and suckles on his neck, palms rubbing hotly upon his chest. His hands plant themselves on her lower back in response, roaming upwards beneath the baggy cotton. His knuckles drag the fabric as he outlines her velvet, hourglass shape and she raises her arms, helping him remove it.

Nope. Definitely wasn't wearing a bra.

The thought comes as quickly as it goes because he has a hand over his mouth, unsuccessfully restraining his laughter at the state of her hair and she frowns playfully, blowing away the unruly locks with a childish huff before removing the pins of her lopsided braids. She undoes them slowly, never taking her eyes of his and when she is done, he weaves his fingers through her curly-now-wavy hair, feeling over it's sleekness and pulling her closer to plant kisses over it, reveling in its alluring scent. His kisses purposely become inconsistent as he presses them randomly over her head and she laughs, pushing his face away, only to pull him back to kiss him with intensity, lacing their fingers at their sides and this is the happiest he's seen her.

It's her turn then to slowly pull off his t-shirt, thin fingers traversing his abdomen, making the muscles tense with the lightness of their touch. They spread at his collarbone and he lifts his arms, letting her pull the cloth over his head. Her kiss equals her pace as she finishes sliding the garment down his arms, feeling over the veins that vine along his forearms.

He grabs at her ribs when she is done, thumbs just barely grazing the curve of her breast and he stands, spinning them around to lay her across his sheets. They still, watching and reading the others expressions and they are neither laughing or serious. The look they share is anticipation and more than anything, assurance. It's really all he could ask for. She moves back toward the headboard, wordlessly beckoning him to follow. Before long she's leaning back against the pillows as he hovers above and she reaches up to trace his bottom lip with the pad of her thumb, nail running ticklishly over the top. She does it adoringly and he can't suppress how much she's affected him, how much he's become infatuated with her.

“You are absolutely gorgeous, Mikasa.”

Her thumb naturally bends with his lips as he echoes his thoughts aloud and she pulls him down, reaching them with the silk of her own. He savors the feel of her hips, pushing his own right up against hers, making her whisper his name so so breathlessly and he indulges in the soft syllables her moan carries. Tongues twine with open mouth kisses and he doesn't think he's ever tasted anything as sweet and _soft_ . It so invigorating to be with someone new, to be with a girl who shares his desire and willingly _drowns_ in it.

He wants more. _Craves_ more of her touch, her floral spice, her unique zest, the bells of laughter. A lot more than he should, but it's so hard to think and so easy to want with her roving hands on his body, with hot pants that blow against his hair when he moves his tongue lower and lower and lower, sweeping at the hollow of her throat, her clavicle, and finally the valley between her breasts. He circles it over the roseate areola and when she moans his name, he swears he can feel the strong rhythm of her heart speed beneath his finger.

He moves downward continuously, painting the canvas of her skin with the colors of his revived compassion and she breathes slowly - a little too slowly. And she's a little too… still? He looks to her, squints through the darkness and waits. Then laughs. Laughs as noiselessly as he possibly can because somehow and somewhere during their passionate moments, she fell asleep. And it's fucking hilarious. Cause yes, girls have fallen asleep on him, but never before they actually had sex. There's a youth that somehow returns as she sleeps, making her look characteristically innocent and he's not even mad.

With a shake of his head, he begins the tedious process of redressing her, plucking her (his) shirt off the ground and trying hard to be slow and subtle, but God knows he's anything but. It doesn't really matter though, because she's so deep in sleep and he feels like he's dressing a doll with how unmoving she is. He finishes, climbing off of her and tiptoeing over to the cabinet in the hall, gathering a couple blankets for her and when he returns, she's already on her side, hugging the grey pillow. He melts only a bit and drapes a thin blanket over her body, and then the other. He considers lying down with her, but given their circumstances, he opts against it and lets her have his room tonight. He bids her goodnight with a peck to her temple, leaving the door open a crack.

He treads to his bathroom and when he locks the door behind him, he acknowledges the deep ache with a sigh, running a hand down the length of his neck. He contemplates taking care of it until he spots her wrinkling clothes hanging over his shower door, dripping and damp at the hems. _Ah. There goes the bra._

He grabs the bridge of his nose in frustration. What is it with him and her damn bra?

He stares at them, pondering before grabbing them, spending the last of his wakefulness in a clean way. A much cleaner way.

~•~

A delicious scent finds it's way into his nose and if that doesn't make him open his eyes, the sizzling does. He slits an eye open, turning away from the bright window and he stretches, inhaling the familiar aroma makes his stomach growl. Sitting up, he scratches his stomach, peering around his living space, the kitchen light glowing in his peripheral.

Clattering dishes make him stand and walk the short distance to the doorway and he stops at the sight.

Her messy bun bounces with each quick step along the cracked tiles, the bottoms of his pajamas dragging behind. From here, he can see scrambled eggs served rather fancily on two plates, and he doesn't need to look to know she's making bacon. And _boy_ does it smell so good. She hums their song from last night quietly as she cooks and he warms at the tune.

“What you got there?”

He expects her to jump, but instead, she turns the flame off, clapping her hands together.

“Breakfast,” she announces. “You have a good variety of spices, but why are they all full?”

“I'm not the one who bought them actually. My mom is probably the only one that uses them when she comes by. Which is obviously not often,” he chuckles, walking father inside.  She meets him halfway and half stuns him, pressing her mouth to his with chaste. He hums, folding his arms around her.

“You taste like,” he kisses her, “mint and…” he licks his lips, “cinnamon. Why do you taste like Christmas?”

She detangles his arms from her waist, walking towards the bacon, “well…” she places a napkin on an empty plate, laying the crisp pork on top. “I found some pop tarts inside the cabinet when I was looking for _something_ to make, aand,” she pats the bacon, taking off excess grease, “I found your other mint on the table.”

His mouth gapes in feigned shock. “That was _my_ mint.”

“I didn't want to have morning breath, like _some_ people.”

“That's it. No more kisses for you.”

“I'm kidding, it isn't _that_ bad.”

He scoffs childishly, rightfully heading to the bathroom but she grabs him by the back of his shirt, pulling him back inside. “First, come and eat. You can brush afterward.”

Like him, she doesn't wait. She tugs and tugs backwards until she puts his plate in his hands and she her own, both sitting down opposite of each other.

“This looks amazing, Mikasa. You didn't have to do this.”

He looks up when she stays silent, curious at the way slim fingers fidget, how furiously she blushes.

“Well, I uh… wanted to make up for… last night.” She says it just above a whisper and he stares still, having already forgotten about that. She refuses to look at him, but he refuses to let her feel embarrassed.

He takes the first couple bites, brows raising, “it tastes as good as it looks!” he exclaims through a mouthful of food, effectively ridding her of awkwardness, “I can't remember the last time I had a real breakfast. Diners can't beat this.” Her abashedness softens with his praise and her head shakes with doubt. She murmurs her thanks anyway, tucking loose strands behind her ear.

They finish not long after and he excuses himself to begrudgingly put his uniform on, already wishing his shift was already over. He catches her cleaning again and he has to force Mikasa to sit while he washes their dishes. And speaking of wash -

“Here you go,” he says, holding out her heated clothes, “I thought you might’ve wanted them washed.”

She takes them, feeling over the warmth as she holds them to her chest, “Has anyone ever told you how sweet you are?”

He leans down to her eye level, swaying his torso side to side with hands clasped bashfully behind his back. “I think I may have heard it once before.”

They kiss and she smooths her fingers down his throat, running over the small freckle, over the little marks she gave him before clasping the ends of his collar, “you look so good in that uniform.”

“Now that I've definitely heard before.”

And he thought his mother could pinch hard.

~•~

He walks her to the entrance of her not-so-distant apartment complex and before they actually get there, she puts her unlocked phone in his hands.

“ _This_ is your reward.”

“Your _phone_?”

A roll of silver eyes. “No you dummy. Put in your number.”

“Oh. Right.”

He's barely finished punching in the last digits before a hysterical brunette comes out, jumping onto Mikasa.

“Mikasa! I was worried sick! Where did you go?! Why didn't you come home?! You missed the cookie dough ice cream last night!”

“Sasha,” she grunts, untangling herself from her crying companion,”I told you where I was going. And I texted you that I wouldn't be coming home until morning.”

“Y-you did?”

“We're you even awake?”

Her question goes unanswered when her friend notices him with a sniffle. She totters toward him, grasping his arms. “Thank you officer -,” she pauses, reading his tag, “officer Jaeger,” she snivels, “for finding my Mikasa and bringing her home.”

“I uhh -”

“Sasha, I was with _him_ last night.”

He's never seen someone become so smug in a matter of seconds. Especially after that kind of episode.

“Ooooooh. Were you with him? Or with _with_ him?” She holds his arms still,  honey eyes scrutinizing his face before giving an approving nod, “nice job Mika, he's hot.”

He throws a smug grin of his own to Mikasa, ego boosting.

Her cheeks warm, hands tenting over her face, “Sasha...”

Sasha gasps, “Oh! Did he get you those?” She points to her bouquet. “That must've been it. Mikasa here is a sucker for cheesy crap like that.”

Cheesy? Crap? Ego destroyed.

“I'll explain later. Go inside, _please.”_

 _“_ Sure thing Mika. Nice to meet you _Officer Jaeger._ ” She winks with a two finger salute, walking back inside. They both wait till the door closes behind her.

“She's… lively.”

Mikasa’s groan is masked behind stems and hands, making him laugh.

“Well, I better get going… I'll uh, see you around?”

She smiles warmly, and when she answers, she says it like a promise, making him miss her already.

“Definitely.”

He parks his car outside the station just before his phone chimes with a new number across the screen.

_“When do you get off of work officer jaeger? (;”_

Not two seconds later he gets a messy text, apologizing for Sasha's message.

He doesn't think he's ever replied so fast.


	4. Reticent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request for Eren wanting some alone time with Mikasa from anon that took me way too long and is so late ;-; I'm very sorry, but I hope you enjoy it! I gave your request a little genre twist, if that's possible lol

Mikasa once heard her mother say that mirrors can never lie. As a child, she knew it was physically obvious, but as greys stare back at her, she can only question if that's really true.

Her only source of light flickers wildly as she twists her torso, making the dim candlelight bounce off the toned curves of her body. Her gaze hardens as it declines over the define ridges and contours of her abdomen, across the lining of muscle along her arms, her legs. She knows that her physique is the result from years of vigorous training.

But.

She also knows Eren isn't a liar. He's always been rather forthright with her. Apathetically so.

Why then...

Mikasa turns this way and that, scrutinizing herself and suddenly she realizes that she's never spent more than 3 minutes in front of a mirror before. And maybe it should've stayed that way, because something she had suppressed for so long begins to creep it's way back into her mind, settling and wrapping itself around like a weed. With everything going on, she hasn't the time or the space to start worrying about her looks, how others see her.

But even with that mentality, she can’t help but visibly cringe at the sight of her brawny, more masculine figure. She doesn't recall seeing any other of her female comrades with such… bulkiness. Each coming minute brings new flaws she's never noticed, or maybe just never looked long enough to notice. The flame reveals them, one after the other, making her feel less feminine and more like a worn machine. Sturdy yet blemished with nicks and scars she doesn't remember getting.

Her stomach growls painfully and she sighs, reaching for her night shirt. She isn't sure how much longer she can keep this up. _If_ she should keep this up.

She pulls her arms through dinged sleeves and steals one last look at the cheval glass with a sniffle. She turns away distastefully, leaning over and blowing out the dying flame.

~•~

“Where's Mikasa?”

Eren looks up from his bowl, glancing around the room before shrugging his shoulders, “I'm not sure. I haven't seen her today.”

“She hasn't been coming to eat lately,” Armin frowns, “has she been busy?”

Another shrug.

“... Did you say something to her?”

Eren swallows his bread too soon, the chunk sliding dryly down his throat. “What makes you think I said something?” he coughs defensively, raising the wooden cup to his mouth.

“Your seemingly unconcerned response. And between the two of us, it's always you who makes her upset.”

Eren huffs, propping his cheek against his palm as he continues playing with the loaf. “Well...”

“Well?” This earns Armin a sage glare before those same eyes downcast.

“I think I might've… insulted her. Maybe.”

Armin blinks. “How so?”

Eren’s silence lingers at the simple question as he twirls old silverware between his fingers, lips twisting into a weak grimace. Armin opens his mouth, another question forming on his tongue when Eren finally spits it out. “I kinda called her fat cause when we're training we had to do that wounded soldier simulation and there was no way in hell she was going to carry me again so I put her on my shoulders an -”

“Wait wait,” Armin interrupts, dropping his spoon, “you called her _fat_?”

Eren slouches dramatically, nails opting to pick at splinted wood. He knew Armin would react this way. “Not fat, more like… _heavy_.”

Armin looks to Eren, dull and straight-faced before slapping a hand against his forehead. He deliberately drags it down the side of his face, pulling down his lower lid.

“Eren...”

“She was!” He shoots back prickly, “Seriously, for someone as athletic as her, you'd think -”

“That's why she isn't here,” Armin heaves. “Why she hasn't been coming here.”

There's pause in their exchange and Eren glances around the room quizzically, _obliviously_. “Why?”

Their gazes meet. “She's purposely not eating.” Eren stares still and Armin waits.

“You think… she's starving herself?” Tan features scrunch and he shakes his head vigorously, stabbing his fork into the steamed potato. “No,” he says, “I don't think Mikasa would do something like that. Especially at a time like this.”

“Think about it, Eren. Mikasa is a _girl_. Which means that at some point she's going to feel self-conscious about the way she looks,” Armin reasons, taking a mouthful of food. “An I think ya push her in tha direction.”

Eren tsks, fingers pressing into his temple. “Well she shouldn't feel like that. Mikasa looks perfect.” Armin chokes a little, small fist pounding lightly at his chest as he tries and _fails_ to force the corners of his mouth down. Erem catches on soon enough and his eyes widen comically.

“N-no I didn't mean it that way it's not like that It's just that she works out a lot a-and she's number one in our class for a reason so of course she's going to - stop laughing at me!”

“It's okay,” Armin says too casually, reaching for his napkin, “I won't tell Mikasa you think she's perfect.”

Eren becomes increasingly flustered, red coloring the tips of his ears, “I said she _looks_ perfect not… y-you know what? I don't have to correct myself, you know what I meant.”

“I don't actually.”

“... Whatever,” he grunts, standing with his tray. “I gotta go find her.”

~•~

This place is not that big. Where could she be? She's always nearby, and now that he actually looks for her she's nowhere to be found, ironically enough.

Well. To be fair he hasn't searched that long. Or all that desperately. But if what Armin says is true, it's best that he clears up things with her. And quickly. The thought of her starving herself because of _him_ is just ludicrous and far more unsettling.

He turns the corner when a rather worrisome thud comes from one of the rooms, followed by a screech he could recognize anywhere.

“Sasha… I told you… To the left…”

“You never said which left!”

“Sasha!” He calls, “real quick -”

“Eren! Help us for a second. Please.”

“Yes,” Connie grunts from beneath the crate, “help.”

Both brunettes lift the hefty box off of their bald companion, setting it down in the correct spot, according to Connie.

He coughs, long and drawn out. “Thanks man.”

“No problem,” Eren nods. “Now Sasha -”

“Oh! Right, what was it that you needed?”

“Have you seen Mikasa?”

“Mmmmm nuh uh. But I could help you look for her!”

“Oh, uh sure, that's -”

“For half of your dinner.”

“Connie, could you help me find Mikasa?”

Sasha begins to protest, trying to bargain when Connie cuts her off.

“I would, but the captain asked us to clean the rooms here. And well, you and I know better than to just leave. Sorry.”

Eren hums his understanding, making towards the door. “S’okay. Thanks anyway.”

“Captain Levi assigned her to the stables earlier today. You might still be able to find her there.”

“Oh, alright.” A pause. “A word of advice. That corner over there looks messy. You should probably sweep it up before the Captain sees it.”

“Sasha… That was your job!”

Eren steps back out, cracking a smile at the bickering resonating through the corridor.

~•~

It's a process to open the stable door. He has to wiggle and pull and push until the inevitable friction of metal pierces the drums of his ears. He cracks it open just enough to see a broom abandoned on the floor, hay gathered in various clumps around it. She stands in front of the second to last stable, hands weaving through the midnight mane of the what could only be Levi's stallion. He watches her for a moment, thinking how it's hair matches her own quite closely, in both color and sleekness.

He pushes the door enough to slip through, cringing at the continuous shriek of it. He's certain the door has made his presence well known, but it doesn't seem to deter Mikasa from her gentle ministrations.

“I got a little distracted,” she says, patting the charcoal snout, “sorry, Jean.”

Didn't he just see him at lunch?

“Jean?”

There has only been one other instance where Eren witnessed the otherwise stoic Mikasa jump in surprise. He had just turned twelve and he caught her placing handmade gifts on his cot. She had flushed pink before wishing him happy birthday, her voice as soft as her smile.

Now, her countenance is anything but.

She collects herself quick enough, clearing her throat as she retrieves the broom from the ground. There is definitely something off about her. There's a sickly tint to her nose, dark crescents that swell beneath her lashes, the way she wraps her cloak around herself when he stares a breath too long. Silence between them thickens and they both cut it, speaking at the same time.

He shuffles in place, letting her speak first. “I… I didn't know that was you. Me and Jean are supposed to clean the stables.”

“He's inside eating.”

“I know,” she says, eyes glued to the hay. “I told him to go take a break.”

“Well why aren't you in there? How come _you're_ not taking a break?”

Bristles dragging leisurely along the concrete is his only answer and he is reminded that this is Mikasa, who always kept her reasoning to herself and he changes his mind. He's not going to beat around the bush, pretending  like he doesn't know anything.

“Mika-”

“-sa! I'm done eating so I… what are you doing here Jaeger?” The question is calloused and laced with accusation, like it's _him_ who's intruding.

That guy just had to come in now.

There's something else that becomes thick in the air and this time, it isn't silence. “Nothing that concerns you.”

“Eren.” Both boys turn to her. “Don't start fighting. What is it, Jean?”

Why is he being scolded? Jean is the one who's picking a fight with him.

“Right, um. I'm done eating so I can do the rest for you.”

“It's alright. I finished cleaning,” she assures, the pile of hay clearly unswept and right in front of her. Mikasa steps over it as she walks forward, looking up at Jean. “I've got laundry to do so could you close up?”

“Uh y-yeah of course…”

Eren can see Jean's expression through his peripheral and he turns back to him, the crease in his brows deepening. The hell is with that look?

She walks closer to the door and farther away from their unfinished conversation and for the what feels like the first time, farther away from him. “Thank you.”

“Wait, Mikasa -”

“I've got to go. We can talk later, Eren.” She claps one thin palm against the door and pushes it more open with astonishing difficulty, leaving both boys gaping at her struggle. Her movements are light and hushed, almost embarrassed as she steps out and he is rendered mute.

“Now you know how it feels when you leave her behind. So wipe that look off your face.”

For once, he doesn't have a snarky remark.

~•~

Four days pass.

Chores and training and time pass and blur together and the week is almost over.

It's gone by in a blink and it's all the more frustrating because she _still_ doesn't come to the dining hall.

Did anyone else notice how exhausted she looked? He finds himself occasionally wondering about her wellbeing because the last time he spoke with her, she seemed unusually ill. He's looked for her between his duties and there's always _something_ that interrupts him.

After Jean, it was Levi. He had just gotten her attention but the toilets are so much more important.

Then there's the commander’s upcoming test. He wanted to try and study with her, but Hanji scared the literal shit out of him. Now he has an experiment to mentally prepare for.

Sometimes it's his needy friends and they give him questioning looks at his exasperation.

He just wants some time to talk to her alone goddammit. Is it too much to ask?

It's kinda strange not having her around. It's something he's wished for countless of times, but her presence has always been a constant since forever. He hasn't even seen Armin all that much. It just... doesn't feel the same. And he feels like he's is the only one to blame.

~•~

She's tired. Sluggish. Hungry. So very dizzy.

A couple more days she told herself. She was positive she could hold out that long. But of course, her mind and body have different ways of functioning.

She doesn't feel her knees give out.

She can only feel her fingers clutching the plastic covering of the mat, the dryness in her throat as it forces out the little air left in her lungs. Her stomach wants to let out what isn't even there but it tries anyway, coughs coming out rasped and making her head all the more woozy. Her eyes dew at their burning sensation and she keeps them shut, willing the pain to go away.

Everything was going fine. Or at least she thought so. Perhaps it was only a matter of time...

She doesn't hear the door fly open through the ringing in her head. She only hears the punching bag as it swings side to side like a pendulum, fringed ropes creaking with tension and then a hand. One worn and large but so familiarly warm where her skin is slicked and freezing. It shakes her, and she doesn't remember laying down but she is and she's suddenly afraid. She wants to sit up, let them know she'll be fine but she can't. She not even sure if she can stand. Instead, her moist eyes slit open.

Green.

She thinks it's the Survey Corps cloak as it whirls off the shoulders of another. She didn't see the fabric placed on her but she welcomes the heat of it, curling tighter into a ball to retain the feel of it. She's immediately doused in its scent, one that brings her back beneath the lone tree in Shiganshina and she sighs.

Her eyes shift drowsily and she sees brown and… turquoise? Everything is hazed but his voice is close and her heart races a little faster because she knows it all too well, even misses it. He sounds panicked, off and she fades, little by little and she lets herself, too tired to even think. The last thing she feels is her body being lifted before dark nothingness consumes her and his voice completely.

~•~

When she wakes, she doesn't get up right away. Only cause her limbs won't let her. She hears herself groan, feels _something_ attached to her arm as she squirms uncomfortably beneath the scratchy sheets. Her vision is much clearer than before and she recognizes the room through the flickering flame.

Only this time, it's her who's in bed, not Eren.

Eren.

Pushing herself up on shaky forearms, greys shoot to the empty seat at her left. Where is he? Was he the one who brought her here? She double takes at the dresser beside her, clutching her stomach at the sight of a tray. It growls in defiance and she gives in, carefully detaching the IV.

The first bite isn't as relieving as she thought it'd be. The food must've been sitting there for some time because the soup is cold and the bread is a little hard. She can hardly complain though. It's the first thing she's had in _days_.

Her first step isn't as steady as she hoped either. It's wobbly and weak at first, guided only by faint moonlight, making her latch onto the corner of the mattress for support. Leaving her bed probably wasn't the smartest thing she's done or the dumbest, but she can barely breathe in the stuffy room with equally stuffy nostrils. The second step comes minutes later, unsteady yet slow and cautious. The third comes sooner, then a fourth, a fifth and before she knows it, she's standing outside with the main entrance at her back.

Her legs are surprisingly tired after her little endeavor so she plants herself on the cool stone of the steps, breathing in the autumn breeze. The gust makes her shiver and she realizes that she isn't in her sports bra or training shorts anymore. She actually doesn't know who owns the t-shirt and shorts she's  currently donned in. They're very comfortable though.

She pulls her knees to her chest, staring blankly at the vast lining of trees, beyond the ombré of their leaves. There's a river not too far from headquarters and she swears she can hear the crash of the small waterfall against its rocks, the sound of it flowing indefinitely through the woods. The moon is as crisp as the air and she tunes to the music of it, listens as the trees sway to its melody. She doesn't notice how her lids flutter shut, how she slowly begins to drift until something is wrapped gingerly around her shoulders.

The lightness of the action tells her that it wasn't meant to wake her but it does, cloudy steels fixating on emerald blues. The profoundness of them has her turn away unwillingly before she stares too long, before she embarrasses herself in front of him. He must notice her twisting the cotton hems of her t-shirt because he tells her plainly that they're Sasha's. She hums her acknowledgment, not really knowing what else to say.

And then his hand is on her again, rough and tentative against her sunken face.

The pads of his fingers brush her bangs away to press the backside of his palm against her forehead, knuckles grazing her temple before the backs of his fingers rest on her cheek for what feels like the longest of moments.

“You shouldn't be out here. Your lips are turning blue.”

The last part makes her unconsciously swipe her tongue across her bottom lip and even though it's dark, she knows he can probably feel the heat that rises to her cheeks from his burning gaze. She clears her tightening throat, pulling his brown garment over her forearms.

“Did you take me to med bay?” She feels more than she sees him nod.

“Thank you,” she says, volume borderline whisper and she forces herself to look at him with a half-smile. He frowns, shutting his eyes as his brows crinkle. “Don't say that. Not to me.” His hand drops.

“What do -”

“This is my fault,” he hisses, “What happened to you I mean. I'm… I'm sorry.”

“Eren-”

“Wait, just-” he sighs, unclenching his fists, “listen to me for a sec.”

He twists himself to face her and to her shock, he grabs her knees so she can face him as well. It's a small gesture, but she can't help the tiny jump in her pulse at the unexpectedness.

“I shouldn't have said that to you.” She knows what “that” he’s referring to. She sniffles. “I was frustrated and I wasn't thinking… as usual,” he smiles humorlessly. “It's not that you're… y’know… I'm - I'm just not strong enough. But that's okay. I _know_ I have to build my strength. What I don't know is how long it's going to take. We only started three weeks ago so…”

He seems kind of at a loss for words so she parts her chapped lips, facing the glittered sky, “it's okay. I wasn't thinking straight either. But it wasn't just that.” She hugs her knees to her chest again, “I just feel like... it's not normal for a girl to look like I do.” From the corner of her eye, she sees Eren snap his head towards her incredulously, almost offensively and she can't count on both hands how many times she's seen that look.

“Mikasa. Mikasa look at me. There is nothing wrong with you. There are no _standards_ you have to live by to be ‘normal’. Who cares if your workout and train harder than other girls? If anything, they should be jealous of you!” Her mouth twitches, because of how frustrated he sounds and she feels all the more stupid for going on like she was. “You’re your own person. Be proud of it.” He places his hand on the crown of her head, ruffling the dark strands. “Idiot.” He talks and touches her carefully, tone lacking its usual bite. It’s like they’re ten years old again, coming home with stacks of twigs.

“And… you shouldn't - should never worry about how you look because - because…” Mikasa raises her brow at his behavior; the hesitancy, how tense his fingers feel against her scalp, the face he makes when he's cursing someone or something. “You’re a very pretty person, Mikasa.”

Her initial reaction is shock. Eren complimenting someone is such a rarity that some part of her believed that he was incapable of saying anything like that, much less to her. Then she feels butterflies in her belly and warmth that spreads and fans out from her chest to the tips of her fingers. He _refuses_ to look at her and in that moment, she finds his aggressive timidity rather cute because that is so like him.

She plucks his hand from the top of her head and pulls him closer, chastely pressing her mouth to his cheekbone. While her lips are cold and probably blue, his cheek is hot and probably pink. She doesn't really know why she kissed him. She's thought about it, dreamed of it maybe once or twice. It could’ve just been the spur of the moment but in any case, she's glad she did. Because he walks her back to the room they’ve been in too many times, bids her goodnight with sweetness so subtle and when the sun streams in through translucent curtains hours later, she still has his sweater wrapped around her shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have this issue with starving yourself, please seek help. Going through that is God awful and I wouldn't want that for anyone. There are many helpful websites online my friends. Stay healthy. Please.


	5. When Sorrow Withers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ayyyyyeee thanks for the kudos and bookmarks!! It keeps me going my dudes <3  
> Anyway, this is for Eremika week day 4: fluff/angst.  
> Why not both?

The building they're searching is aged, tarnished with weathering and years of neglect. The interior has a certain hollowness to it. Remains of broken items and rusted tools liter the floor, the quiescent ambience anything but welcoming. Moisture forms at her hairline, drops collecting and racing to the edge of her jaw. It's cold inside, but her weapon tremors for reasons unrelated, pointing at every suspicious noise in the darkest corners. For the first time in her life, she's feels nervous for a mission.

There's a whisper that seems to undulate through the stillness, one she wishes could cease, omnipresent within the rancid atmosphere. _Someone's here. You can't see him but he is._

Mikasa’s team had almost never missed their mark. They were certain that The Ripper and his gang were coming here to carry out their dirty work. Then again, he was the only one that has managed to evade them, taking her comrades lives as swiftly as they make their escape. Her breathing thins out at a particular memory, fingers clutching her gun harder as she squints through the dim moonlight.

So far, there isn't any evidence that indicates their presence. What if they already took care of the job?

Her stomach twists at the notion and like a child, she peeks behind stacks of crates with absolute reluctance. Fear grips her at every corner and she is unprepared to come across bodies with their lives drained onto the floor in the form of crimson pools.

She ambles along lightly, making each step practically inaudible as she moves about the room. There are many pillars deteriorated with age, even more shadowy doorways and she never treads too close if she knows what's good for her. Time seems formidable as every second drags in what feels like minutes and suddenly, it seems to pause when she comes across a sheet, tattered yet splayed neatly atop of a figure on the floor.

Curious but hesitantly, she starts lifting the dirty cloth with her free hand, mentally preparing herself for the worst. Something twitches beneath it and she almost drops the sheet completely. She lifts higher between her pinching fingers before a rat scurries out and in between her shoes, making her organs momentarily cease their functioning. She fires her gun twice impulsively at the creature, both bullets uncoordinated and messy. In her moment of fright, she tossed the sheet to the side, the moonlight just catching the edge of broken car jacks, heart thudding against her eardrums. Mad or reassured, she doesn't know what to feel.

_“Mikasa?! What's happening?!”_

She jumps at the sudden voice, almost knocking over yellowed PVC pipes. Quivering grays close in only half relief before she presses two fingers against her earpiece, lowering her gun.

“Nothing. I saw something move, but it was only a rat. Sorry.” She can still hear the gunshots as they echo eerily through the chilled room, bouncing off fragments of mold and rotten wood.

The wind howls outside, whistling through the broken windows. _Someone's here..._

_“Jesus Mikasa, you gave me a heart attack.”_

“You and me both. Have you searched outside?”

_“Negative. I'll go out there once I find the goddamn exit to this warehouse. This place is a freaking maze and the layout isn't helpful.”_

He continues to rant about how the layout of the building is crap, and after considering it for a second, she worries he'll be too exposed if he goes out. Him being alone outside doesn't sit well with her either, so she looks for a quick exit of her own.

“No, you stay in here and keep looking.” She eyes the window above stacked crates. “I found another way out so I’ll go and sweep the outside perimeter.”

There's some scuffling on his end and she begins to climb the boxes at his silence.

_“Mikasa, I'm not a thirteen years old anymore. I can do it.”_

She pauses, lowering her leg. “Eren, I never said you couldn't -”

_“I know you. I can practically see the expression you have through these walls. I'll go out there.”_

She huffs lightly through her nose. Typical.

“ _I_ _f you don't trust me still then fine. I'll come to you and we can_ both _go out there. Just tell me how you're getting out and I'll be there.”_

Trust. He wanted to compromise, asked her to _please_ start trusting him after the last argument they had.

Her faint respire fogs the space in front of her and she concedes. He's here for a reason. Making him stay inside isn't fair. “...Okay. I'm currently positioned inside the main storage area. I'm going out through a cracked window near the back. You’ll see my line and can meet me out there.”

_“ A window, Mikasa? Why can't you just wait for me? We can look for the actual door.”_

“I wait once I'm outside. And it's quicker this way.”

_“You and I both know you won't. Mikasa, you don't have to do everything on your own. After what happened I just… need to be there. Please.”_

She softens at his somber plea, her resolve crumbling piece by little piece.

“You _will_. Don't worry, I'll be okay. I promise.”

They are both so stubborn, but ever since they lost their best friend, he's been gentle and more submissive to her wishes, worries about her more even. He sighs deeply and there's a playful yet serious warning when he replies, one that matches that of his earlier years. _“You better, you idiot. I'm on my way.”_

His mic cuts off soon after and she feels considerably warmer than she did moments prior. She adjusts the strap around her hips before jumping onto the next crate. Hearing him say those words makes her feel like they are finally seeing eye to eye. They used to argue on every other mission, and they only became worse when she was promoted to squad leader. Levi almost separated them completely. But lately, he's become more accepting of her, sticking closer than ever on each job they've received.

She thought he'd rather have gone with Annie and assisted her team on their assignment. As usual. But when Erwin told her that Eren requested to go inside the warehouse with her, she can't say that she was surprised either. After all, her uncle had taken someone all too precious from them… it's only right that they take out Ripper together.

Cooled digits wiggle the rusted latch, the screeching metal making chills prickle along her neck and her face crease with its sharpness.

Finding a secure spot to latch her line isn't as effortless - or the most reassuring - as she’d hoped, but she sinks the hook  deep into the wood as her strength allows.

Mikasa looks over the area skeptically, deciding if she doesn't find anyone, she'll call Jean to come and get her and Eren.

The height of it doesn’t look intimidating. She takes in a breath to calm her nerves, moving each limb carefully out the window. Every step down the wall is paced, the groaning wood above exercising her patience. Her legs stop their descent when the wind blows too strong, or when the sill threatens to break with creaks deep and drawn out. She’s barely halfway down and a bead of sweat settles at the curve of her temple once more. She curses how deceptive the angle at the window was, creating an illusion that hid the buildings true height.

Her steps match the rhythm of her breaths, every exhale deliberately slow with practice.

Her hearing heightens at rustling too sporadic to be the evening gust and her pulse begins to race. She doesn't move and evidently, it stops

She feels something. Or _someone_ rather. The wind blows against her ears, the frigid air reddening them and then there's the whisper again.

_Someone, somewhere. They're here. They’re here._

Mikasa twists and cranes her neck in every direction, trying to pinpoint the sounds when a bladed star sinks deep into the wooden wall, too close to her cord. Silvers widen with panicked realization and before she can fully react, she is already plummeting downwards.

She gasps sharply, stomach turning upside down as her arms press reflexively to the sides of her head. She hears rather than feels the crack of her ribs when she first bounces off the dry grass and weeds, the impact knocking the air from her lungs. She ends up on her stomach, cough after cough forced from her throat and she’s never felt any kind of pain like this. Her ears ring from the shock, eyes watering from the lack of oxygen. It takes her a solid minute as she waits for the little breath she left at the window to catch up. She shakily raises her hand to her ear.

“E-Eren…” She rasps.

“ _Mikasa?”_ She keeps coughing with roughness she's never known, calling for him again. _“Why - Where - What's going on?”_

She wheezes softly, gathering the air to speak. “They’re here…” she states weakly.

“ _What? Mikasa, I'm coming -”_

“Well well well.”

She grunts loudly as her ponytail is pulled up, cruelly and purposely slow. Dirt is caught in her lashes, but she can make out the face of the man, dread settling painfully into her bones. She barely pays attention to Eren hollering inside her ear, the crooked and sadistic smile too much for her to think straight. She wonders of that is the same smile her blonde friend saw before he murdered him.

“If it isn’t my dearest niece. You look _just_ like your mother, Mikasa.”

‘Uncle,’ she mouths.

“Mikasa!”

The Ripper looks up that the gaping window, spotting Eren at the edge of it.

Her palm pats around the dried earth, nails scraping desperately to grasp something. Her gun. Where is her gun?

“Brought another brat along for me to have fun with?” He steps on top of her searching arm, pressing almost all his weight, relishing in her cry of pain. Eren’s threats are sharp with revenge and she hopes he doesn’t come down. Ripper’s comment makes a whole other level of fear cloud her mind, images of lifeless ocean blues flashing before her her mind's eye. The grip on her hair loosens, her cheek meshing against the soil and she hears a snap of fingers. Within seconds, she feels multiple hands grabbing at her, lifting her halfway to haul her as if she were a sack of starched vegetables.

“Stop! Leave her you bastards! Mikasa! Mikasa!”

His voice is scratched with desperation and her heart clenches. She had promised him she'd be okay… just as Armin did and the horror of it forces her to realize that this is another repeat. She can't breathe properly, there's a painful throbbing inside her knee and ribs. She's outnumbered and weapon-less. But she'll do anything for Eren, remove anyone who keeps her from that promise.

She stands on her dragging feet, wrenching her arm free. She jerks her arm back to elbow one of his men in the face, the cartilage cracking underneath the pointy bone. She drops down beside the other gang member, sweeping her foot with precision that lands him rightfully on his ass. She turns on her good leg to face her other opponents, fists raised with murderous intent.

She can win this without her pistol.

Eren watches in amazement, the gust blowing the tears caught in the corners of his eyes. She must've took a hard fall from where the rope was cut and yet she still stands, making Ripper stumble backward with a nimble kick. Had anyone else fallen from here, surely it would've been fatal. At that moment when he spotted her in his grasp, lying and unmoving in the dirt, he really had thought... But she's always been too tough to succumb to even the most notorious. She isn't just anyone. And he supposes this is why she will always be better than him.  

Her movements reduce to dodging, her injuries limiting their speed and coordination and it's then that he fumbles with the button on his radio, ready to call for backup when his periphery catches something below.

Ripper straightens himself, pushing the greasy strands of hair back before fiddling inside the pocket of his trench coat.

What the hell is he doing?

Eren loses all the color in his face when the moonlight reveals a syringe being pulled from its casing, held readily between his fingers. Mikasa is distracted with two other men, vulnerable and unaware as he comes up quietly behind her.

HIs warning falls from his tongue far, far too late.

The muscles in his throat are scraped raw when the needle sinks halfway into her neck. She jerks and falls soon after, so slowly and defeatedly. Eren's head spins, and it's as if the world has collapsed beneath his feet, sucking him into a familiar void that trapped him for months. He screams for her over and over like the lost child he is, his soul thrown into despair.

Why won't his legs move? Why why whywhywhywhy-”

He doesn't realize he's still holding down on the radio until a worried voice comes through.

_“Eren?! Eren! What’s happening?!”_

“They’re taking her!” he cries, tears welling uncontrollably. “The Ripper has Mikasa! He's going to _kill_ her, he's going to kill her like he killed Armi-”

“Eren calm down! We are not going to let that happen. Me, Sash and Jean are not too far from the warehouse. We’re coming Eren, try to keep up till we get there!” Connie’s promising tone does nothing to ease the anxiety and immense pain of watching her being dragged away.

It's only when they're out of sight that he snaps out of it, jumping away from the window. Soon he is weaving through crates, running down endless halls, skipping whole staircases until he finds a window he deems close enough the ground. He smashes through with the force of his body, never stopping to remove the shards embedded into his arms. He makes a sharp turn to the side where she fell, evidently tripping and stumbling to his knees. The glass digs deeper into his skin and he holds back a yelp, fisting the pale brown leaves. He forces his body to stand and dart off into the woods, using the last of his energy to find his girl.

If she can't keep her promise on her own then he’ll help her keep it.

His legs and lungs begin to burn with each minute spent running, pushing deeper in the maze of wilted foliage and thin bark. Damn him if his body dares to falter. He feels like he's run for hours when he finally sees light seeping between the trunks, his hope and determination rising more and more as he gets closer with every sprint. He breaks through the final bush, readily rolling out to get Mikasa back, but all that greets him is the sight of his squad.

“Eren!” Sasha exclaims, dropping her bow. “Oh - Oh my god what happened?!”

He doesn’t answer. They all stare at him and he stares back until hands covered with broken glass clutch blood coated bangs, dreary eyes losing all their focus. His only team rushes toward him when he collapses at their feet.

~•~

“What a moron,” Kenny laughs, tightening rough material around her wrists. Two hands fall towards her mouth, gagging her.

His voice echoes through the woods periodically, each time leaving her head throbbing. She had called back to him, voice barely higher than a whisper, but all she got was a heavy hand whipping across her cheek.

“When is the shit supposed to kick in?” She’s blindfolded then, ribs protesting when she's tossed and enclosed somewhere.

“Soon enough.”

Their voices are muffled and tears stain the cloth wrapped too tight around her head, her pain and exhaustion beginning to overwhelm. She thinks he's still screaming for her.

She failed as a squad leader, as a teammate. She failed Carla, like she's failing her best friend. She feels reduced to a feckless girl who thought too high of her capabilities.

She jerks forward, ears registering the sound of tires and she hopes her death is quick, even though she doesn't deserve it.

Drops falling steadily against the concrete lull her awake. Mildew and metallic fill her nose and burn deep within her lungs. Dry eyes flutter open and she realizes her hair isn't up anymore. The long strands curtain around her head and shoulders. Her neck rolls side to side tentatively, the muscles stiff and aching. She gasps and flinches at the flare of pain in the center of her neck, black eyes widening with confusion.

She is still alive? Where is she? How long has she been unconscious? What happened to her neck?

“You've been out for a day and a half a reckon.” She adjusts her spine carefully, mindful of the dull ache in her ribs. He sits on the opposite side of the bars, playing with a dagger. “That's where that microchip used to be in case you forgot. I did you a favor really, you should thank me.”

Her mind goes haywire with questions, blood pulsating in her hands and feet because he _sliced_ her neck open and removed the chip. That was practically her only hope of being found and it had been surgically removed. She's afraid that it won't be the last time his blade pierces her neck.

“You know,” he grunts, standing to his feet. “I used to have one myself when I was with Erwin’s organization. But I was never one to listen to the rules. After all, it's terrible being tracked all the time, don't you think?”

“What do you want from me?” she demands feebly, swallowing the dryness in her throat.

“Look at you, already wanting to get down to business. Good girl. You really are my niece.” She glares at the remark.

“I’ll put it simply for you,” he says casually, leaning against the bars. “Erwin has a lot of enemies. I've been offered a _huge_ sum of money for his head, you see.”

“All I need to know is where your… what's the word -” he looks up in thought, moving his hands about, “safe house is. You tell me that, and you can have your life.” He continues twirling the blade around, subtly baleful. “I'll give you ten percent of that cash. Deal?”

In what _dimension_ could she possibly betray the person, the agency that saved her life?  

“So…” he gestures his fingers, prompting for her words. “You wanna talk to your uncle Kenny?”

So that’s his name. Her father only spoke of him once, words hushed to keep her from knowing just who he was.

She continues to glare and he sighs, pulling out a key. “The thing is,” he unlocks the cell, “I don't have a lot of time. Let's make it clear that your life means absolutely _nothing_ to me. So I'm going to give you two chances to spill the beans.” He stands before her, fixing the wraps around his knuckles.

“Where is it, Mikasa?”

So much for a quick death.

Silence earns her a punch to the gut, disturbing her sensitive rib cage. Her wrists and ankles pull hard against their constraints. She coughs, a mix of blood and saliva trailing from the corner of her mouth.

C’mon girl. Don't be stupid. Just answer the question. It doesn't have to be this way.”

Even if she did tell him, it’d be pointless. Not even _he_ could get in. Twenty-four hour watch would recognize him, take him out in half a second it's almost _laughable_. He kneels in front of her, eyes hard. “What’s so funny, Mikasa?”

She grins at him, teeth and all before spitting in his face, blood dotting parts of his clothes.

The hour following is pure torture.

He had to have hit her at least twenty times. It definitely feels like it. She had been confused when he had first poured water on her, but when she saw a taser grasped firmly in his hand, she knew she was done for. He touched the metal seat with the taser and the voltage had her screaming, making her body jerk violently.

He did it three times, each one bringing her closer to death’s door. She thought she had lost her chances long before, but to her surprise, he stops, tucking the taser inside his pocket. He strokes her wet strands delicately, complementing the length before he yanks her head back. She whimpers at the pain in her neck and when he lets her fall forward, the tips of her hair tickle her jaw. Before he leaves, he drags his dagger against her bruised cheek with such foretelling, bidding her goodnight with false sincerity. He'll be back tomorrow expecting an answer.

“One more chance Mikasa.”

She can’t fall asleep for hours after Kenny leaves. The draft dries her skin, blotched and caked with blood and she knows there's deep cuts when the salt of her tears burns the lining of them. She swears there's still electricity flowing through her body. She had shivered through her damp clothing and with fall well in its season, she knew she was going to get sick. Or just not make it through the night entirely.

But despite everything, she eventually falls unconscious in the chair, escaping through realms of dreams.

At first, she was cloaked in darkness. Unti light emerged from behind like a switch, her friends shining with it. She sees Sasha trying out makeup for the first time, almost poking her eyes out with the mascara wand before a panicked Historia did it for her. She watches Connie (and a hesitant Jean) play a prank on Levi, suddenly hears Armin’s distinct giggle when the latter chased after their bald friend. He stands next to her so casually as if he’d never left, eyes crinkling with contentment, books she recognizes as his favorites wrapped securely in his arms. She doesn't feel the tears streaming until a calloused thumb brushes them aside. She turns and Eren is looking at her, his dimpled smile making her heart stutter and cheeks color in a way only Eren can make them. His hand brings her tinged face closer and she feels rather than hears the gentle syllables the heat of his breath carries. His rich and low voice reverberates as he continually lessens the proximity between them. He pinches her cheek lightly and removes his palm when her lashes fall shut, taking with him the natural warmth of his skin and when she goes to look at him again, he's already gone. Along with the rest of her home.

The drop of the door startles her awake.

Floors spotted with her blood greet her wet, swollen eyes tuning in with the deep voices conversing in front her. She looks up, recognizing the thick accents. She watches them pick with the strap that used to wrap around her hips, speaking and acting like monkeys who've never seen technology before. It's kind of amusing.

“Look who's awake.”

“Her eye is completely black. Damn, look at _all_ of her face. Kenny did a real number on her.” Mikasa did a _real number_ on him too. If the gauze and bruising on and around his nose mean anything.

She looks away from them, having enough of their scrutinization. She thinks back to her dream, desperately trying to recall the words he had murmured to her. Despite everything, there’s a fluttering feeling that evokes from the vague recollection. They had never stood that close before and longing begins to gnaw at the bottom of her stomach. She sniffles, wishing he was here so she could hold him that close, wishes she was home so she could waste a day looking through her photo album tucked beneath her bed. She thinks of that silly photograph of them and Armin holding their poorly carved pumpkins, to remind her of how their lives once defined peace. What she would give to see the innocence that ocean blues and emerald greens once glimmered with one last time.

She doesn’t want it to be the last time, though. She wants to look at those photos for the rest of her life, reminisce with the only man she could never admit she adores. This is likely her last day on Earth, but if she saw Eren right now, she would tell him everything Armin wanted her to. It would be her turn to bring his face close and let her lips convey to him just how enamored she is with his soul. These thoughts stir a sense of yearning within and she bows her head, whispering pleading words to an entity she hardly believes in.

The minute her words are spent, static comes out of her radio.

“How the hell do you work it?”

That’s… Did that really just...?

They shake it like a rattle, putting their ears against it and something clicks in her mind.

“The dial,” she whispers, a little devilishly.

They both look up at her. “What?”

“The dial,” she nods at it, “you twist it till you get a good signal.” The broken noses one twists it back and forth, the screen beginning to flicker green. “You see that button on the side? You push it.” She hears the click of it and both frown.

“Nothing's happening.”

“You got to hold it down and speak into it.”

“Oh, I see.” She hears the static clear, the familiar tri-tone sounding. “This is your captain speaking,” they laugh unknowingly.

Muffled noises. Then, “ _Mikasa? Mikasa are you there?_ ”

It's Erwin.

“Shit!” They release the button, letting the device clatter across the floor. “You conniving bitch. You knew didn't you?!”

She shrugs with a broken grin. “You wanted to know how it works.”

One presses himself against the bar, sticking his arm inside. She leans just out of reach, letting him struggle.

“You're lucky only Kenny has the key,” he growls. “...Or I'd have fun with you myself,” he grins lecherously, looking her up and down.

She swallows hard, repressing a gag. Her face grimaces as she tries to remove those unwanted thoughts.

The other man plucks the radio off the ground swiftly, tucking it in his back pocket.

“Go get Kenny. Tell him she’s awake.”

Fifteen uncomfortable minutes tick by as she is left with the corpulent perv. He makes comments in a foreign language, licking his lips with carnal intent while laughing at his own jokes. She scoffs, insulting him in _her_ native language, mocking him as she laughs dryly at her remarks. His oily face shines red and he flicks her off.

She picks up on a strident voice outside the door, recognizing the southern accent. She hears the door fly open and smack harshly against the stone wall.

“Mikasa Mikasa Mikasa. I sure hope you're ready to talk. Cause If not, I have a little surprise for you.” He wiggles a metal casing in his hand. He unlocks the barred wall, opening the box to show her the syringe inside. The two men watch intently, or rather impatiently.

“See this here? It's nothing like the one I got you with back there. It has more...permanent effects, as promised.” He clamps it shut, tucking it in his back pocket.  

“Now -”

_“Mikasa, if you can hear me, don't worry. We got your squad heading to your location right now. Hold on just a little -”_

The man’s face goes absolutely morbid, contorting with fear as he fumbles with the radio.  Kenny has the man pinned within two seconds, dagger pressing dangerously into his throat.

“Were you idiots messing with that?!”

“I-I-We -”

The _blood_. The deed is done quick and unremorseful, his signature kill. The purple swell of her lid pains when her eyes widen, Her thundering heart quickens with her breath and she wills herself to look away but she can't because it's exactly how they found Armin.

Kenny drops the knife, grabbing at his hair and kicks the water bucket. She flinches cause it _just_ misses her.

“You!” Kenny spits at the frozen figure, pointing at the door. “Get the car ready. And fast before your next.”

He turns back to her, infuriation etched deep into his wrinkles. He pulls out the metal case and she takes her final breath, knowing what's coming next.

“You smart ass,” he laughs humorlessly, filling the syringe. “I guess the gene really does run the family.” He stands before her for a second time, exposing her neck forcefully. She grunts in pain when she feels the needle puncture, gasping when the fluid begins to slowly drain from the glass.

Multiple gunshots come from outside and Kenny jumps, cursing under his breath when screaming ensues. She takes his pause as an opening and bites his hand with the force she has left, making him yelp as he drops the syringe. Thin glass shatters into hundreds of pieces, the other half of the clear liquid spreading and mixing in it.

“Fuck!”

His palm is bleeding out from her teeth marks, and he steals a handgun from the only corpse in the room. Soon she's going to look like that, she's sure.

“It's only a matter of time. That's more than enough to take care of you. You're done for, Mikasa.”

He runs out the room and even though it's pointless, she pulls against her restraints. More bullets fire, back and forth, back and forth, each round making her pull harder. There's shouts, glass fracturing around bullet holes, wood splinting and suddenly, it all stops when she hears a dull thud nearby.

It's so eerily silent and her shoulder begins to burn, the sensation going down her arm and into her neck -

“Mikasa…?”

Relief surges inside at the sound of his voice, elation flaring wildly inside her heart.

She calls out slowly, eyes welling as the people she thought she'd never see again walk inside the room.

“Oh my god, Mikasa!”

Eren shoves the cell door aside, dropping down and embracing her unintentionally tight, but she doesn’t mind one bit. She feels her wrists cut loose and she wraps her arms around him immediately, leaning her head against the crown of his.

He pull back and she thinks he looks eight years old again, snot running freely from his nose and eyes red from crying after taking a hard fall. He touches the cut on her brow, on her upper lip and sobs, wrapping his arms around her once more.

Her ankles are freed and she turns her head, thanking Connie with a lopsided smile. He nods, putting a delicate hand on her shoulder. Sasha unintentionally pushes him to the side, joining Eren’s now gentle embrace.

She coughs harshly, covering her mouth as warm metallic splashes on her tongue. She pulls her bloodied hand away, wincing at the burning sensation within her esophagus.

“Mikasa…” Sasha whispers, lightly grazing her shoulder,“What did they give you?”

The once pale curve is now purple and blotched, a single dot of blood in the center of it all.

“I… I don't know.” Her lungs feel void of oxygen, like the air has thinned within the small room and her heart seizes with worry.

Jean drops the needle, tone more serious than usual. “We have to get her to Hanji. Now.”

Eren becomes frantic. “What's wrong? What's going on?”

“Jaeger, pick her up and be _very_ careful. The rest of you, run ahead and get the airlift ready.”

The brunette murmurs to her, asking if she's ready to go and she half nods, becoming scared as her throat constricts more and more. He adjusts her in his arms, apologizing profusely when she whimpers in pain.

She finds herself falling in and out of consciousness as they move from the premises, barely able to move a muscle. The next moments are cut into time frames, blurred with visions of clouded skies, blood coated hands and jaded eyes. She doesn't see the chopper, but she knows they're close when she hears the steady beat of the chopper’s blades.

Mikasa is breathing so weakly, guttural coughs rasping out inconsistently. Eren holds her softly to his chest, squeezing her hand in his bandaged one while he speaks into her ear. Jean calls to base, demanding he speak to Levi.

Eren takes his spot behind Jean, looking back down at Mikasa. “What’s wrong with her? Why is she breathing like that?”

Jean starts flipping buttons and switches. “I think Ripper poisoned her.”

“Is she going to be okay?”

“Eren, if we don't get her back now, I don't think she'll live long enough to see the sunset. Just… pray that she’s going to be fine.”

His answer weighs down on him heavily and he looks at Mikasa again, terrified because she is so light in his lap, because her chest is moving rapidly as her lungs beg for air.

He doesn’t believe in God. Or Satan or heaven or hell. But he’s more than willing to get on his hands and knees if praying means that her life can be spared.  

~•~

Eren jumps off the helicopter before it can properly land.

Levi and Hanji rush to him, the former taking Mikasa from his arms. They take her to Hanji’s lab and set her gently on top the table. The scientist fumbles inside cabinets, knocking over tools and books. Never before has Eren seen Hanji so frantic and the seriousness of it all makes his breathing labor and his heart beat frantically, the mere site of Mikasa tearing it apart.

Levi is pressing his fingers into his forehead as Hanji rushes through labels, tossing each one back inside the cabinet. Mikasa begins twitching, neck arching and Eren wants to scream at Hanji, wants to murder Ripper all over again, wants to scratch his eyes out, wants Mikasa to just be _okay_. He grabs her hand and when she looks to him, his chest convulses with sobs because there's so much fear and unknowing within her eyes.

He's shoved aside and Mikasa’s eyes widen as yet another syringe comes closer to her. She squirms and Eren has to be held back by Levi and Sasha.

“Mikasa. Mikasa listen to me.” She forces her steel gaze to meet the calm brown of Hanji’s, body still shaking. “I don't know if this antidote will work or not, but you have to try to relax -”

“How can she relax when she can’t even breathe?!”

“Jaeger!” Levi snaps, “shut up or I’m taking you out. She’s doing everything she can to help Ackerman.”

Gloved hands still Mikasa’s face. “Take little breaths in and out. Picture your happy place. Think about where you want to be right now. Imagine the beauty of it.”

Steel softens to silver, glistening as they shift to meet the hysterical green of Eren’s. She looks at him, mouthing three words that make his mind numb.

“Mikasa. Hey, you have to stay awake!” Hanji presses her thumb to the inside of her wrist for seconds too fleeting to be a moment, eyes widening. “Oh my god…”

Eren wiggles out of their loosened grip, stumbling towards the table.

“No. no no no no no -” He hovers over her, placing one hand over the other, pressing down inconsistently to resuscitate her.

“Hey!” push. “Mikasa!” push. "You promised me, remember? Mikasa?” push. “Answer me,” push. “Damn it!”

“Stop Ere-”

“Back off!”

Her body bounces limply with every futile push on her heart and they begin to lose their strength, little by little until his hands resolve to settle on her face.

He looks to her so softly, wiping away his tear from her cheek. “Remember?” he swallows, fighting the tightness inside his throat, “Remember when we were ten? When I promised that one day we were going to see the world some day? That we were going to live someplace far away in the mountains? I can't keep my promise if you don't keep yours. Please. P-please Mikasa. I… I-I can’t let y-you go… I don't” _hic_ , “don't think I could l-live without yo-you” His forehead rests on her collarbone and he whispers those three words back to her, lacing his fingers with her slender ones.

They’ve become warm since they stepped off the helicopter and Eren weeps, committing the feel of her into memory.

“Eren…”

He looks up at Hanji slowly, knowing what she's going to say, or rather confirm but she does nothing of the sort. She has a hand just below Mikasa’s nose and she stutters.

“I don’t - how did…” She places two fingers against the underside of Mikasa’s jaw before pressing her hand lightly over her own mouth, words light in awe.

“She's breathing…”

~•~

It’s so warm beneath these sheets. She doesn’t ever remember her mattress being this comfortable, the pillow not as rigid as her own. Mindless thoughts stem into choppy yet vivid recollections and her lids open instantly.

She sits up, tracing the bandages along her face, the stitches that line at the corner of her brow. Her torso feels thicker through her clothing, more compact, her leg elevated slightly. Her head still aches and her back lands against the too comfortable blankets, reveling in the silence. The white of the curtains are bathed in various golds and pinks, the evening breeze blowing them apart. The air is crisp and evenly cool to the touch. Her shoulder itches and when she goes to scratch it, the pain of it has her reeling at the memories it brings.

How is she _still_ alive?

A snore at her left startles her and she fixes her gaze on unruly locks of umber as they sprawl atop of what she thinks is her photo album. She just watches Eren as he sleeps, the rise and fall of her shoulders subconsciously syncing with his. She lifts his hand, nudging the album out and into her lap. The pads of her fingers smooth over the velvet cover, tracing the chrome lettering.

She thinks back on her wish when she was held captive, sitting up to lay it properly on her thighs.

Mikasa knows exactly where the photograph is located within the small book, but she takes her time, looking at each individual photo. She smiles fondly at them, heat spreading from her hands to the tips of her toes as if she's reliving those moments again. She finally comes to a halt at a particular photo, the one she desperately wanted to see back then.

How long has it been since she’s seen this? She brightens at each of their expressions as they hold their pumpkins. Armin’s accomplished grin, her timid smile, and finally, Eren’s famous frown. He snores obnoxiously on cue and she snorts rather loudly, the shake of the bed stirring him awake.

She doesn't even have a chance to apologize before the album topples to her side, the impact of his body making her grunt and then chuckle. She could get used to this.

“Hello,” she simpers, rubbing her palms on his back. He holds her tighter, pressing his fingers against her head.

“How are you feeling?” His voice is coarse, purple crescents prominent beneath his eyes as he pulls back and she wonders just how much sleep he's gotten lately. He plays with the length of her hair, looking over it with a glint of sadness,

“I'm fine,” she sighs, sinking back into the pillows when he let's go. He doesn't say anything. He stares at her while she plays with the hems of her blanket and she pretends she doesn't feel the intensity of it.

“This is my fault.”

Her eyes fall. “No. You can't blame yourself for this -”

“Not just this, Mikasa. I'm talking about everything that's happened to you, to us… to Armin…”

“Hey -”

“I know what you're going to say, and for all I know you could be right. But I’ve been doing a lot of thinking… and…”

She watches him, almost expectantly like she knows what he's about to ask.

“I need you to do something for me.” He can't look at her. So he grabs her fingers, rolling them gently between his own. “You have to leave. You were never meant for this. You’re only here at this place, living this life because of me. I can’t get up every morning, afraid that something like this could happen to you again. I couldn't survive a second time. I want you breathing, Mikasa. I want you to breathe life in and soak in all the beauty it has to offer. But you can't do that here.”

He isn't the least bit shocked at her silence. He was asking something huge of her, asking her to completely turn her life around. It's only natural for her. There's no arguing, just contemplation as he continues to massage her hand. Seconds turn to minutes and he is surprised at his own patience and lack of anxiety. The deep shades oranges begin to fade to purple, the sky moving towards the cooler side of the spectrum.

Mikasa chews on her lip, the skin reddening from the pressure of her teeth.

“I suppose you're right.” He didn't expect the suddenness of her voice, much less her implicit agreement to his request. But through his relief is underlying hurt. He didn't think she would give in so easily. “If you thinks that's best… then I will. On one condition.”

She calls back on those now embarrassing wishes, the thought making her lightheaded with anticipation. Mikasa beckons him closer, lips divulging her secret as they press into his own.

He shudders with a burst of bliss and it doesn't take him long to relax into her familiar touch. He pays no heed to the wound on her upper lip, just the plush and the pliable warmth of her mouth moving against his. He doesn't think he's doing it right, but her sighs are all the reassurance he needs to keep going, striking a balance between too rough and too soft. He wonders how long she's felt this way about him, how he could never acknowledge how long he's felt this way about her. He breaks the kiss to kneel over her, pushing her head into the pillow when he goes back, kissing deeply with a hint of greed. She grunts into his mouth and he pulls back, apologizing with prolonged kisses to her cheek, her neck.

His lips on her pulse almost clear her thoughts completely, so she gently pushes him back, looking into his dilated eyes.

“On one condition,” she pants, brushing aside his bangs. “You have to come with me.” The passion burning within his irises simmers with emotion. His throat bobs and he runs his nails over her scalp lightly, making goosebumps rise along her arms. “I remember you saying, when we were ten I mean, that we'd see the world some day. That we'd go live in the mountains, just like my parents and I did.”

Her words nearly echo his perfectly, tears threatening to spill over the lining of his lashes.

“I'll go with you. On _one_ condition,” he mocks adoringly, capturing the moment and remembering exactly how he's feeling right now, so caught up with the girl of his dreams, the girl of his future. Her lips press together to conceal her smile, enjoying their lighthearted game.

“Marry me,” he whispers.

It's strange just how quickly their lives change. One day they were carving pumpkins and the next they're roaming the streets, looking for a place to stay. How one day she's the bane of his existence, and the next she's the love of his life. He thought that'd she was really dead on that table, but here she is, doe-eyed as he asks her to marry him. They have a lot of compromising to do, but if it's Mikasa, he wouldn't dare complain.

He thumbs her tears away, committing _this_ moment to memory.

“Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day I will kill off characters. Today is not that day.


	6. When His Love Left A Mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Eremika Day 7: Nsfw/ Crossover.... ;D

She feels young, so much like a teenager when both of them stumble inside a room with her drunken giggles and his half-hearted hushes. The purse of his lips peck along her throat and she bites down her own, the tip of her tongue collecting the last remnants of red wine. 

His hands roam  _ everywhere _ , making her neck arch and mouth twitch upwards when his thumbs finally brush the heated skin of her face. The last digits push into the knotted silk of her hair, curls ruined long before with all the dancing they’d done. He presses their foreheads together, the length of her lashes nearly tangling with his own.

“You sure you don't want to do this when you're more -” his breath catches abruptly when her palms slide down his torso, fingers dipping into the hem of his pants. “When you're more  _ sober _ ?” 

She slides her nose along the slightly crooked shape of his, nodding against him. “I'm sure.” 

“You want to do to this with me.” He angles her face to his, prompting her to open her eyes with a tap to her temple. “You can't take it back.” 

“I trust you, Eren.” There's so much sincerity in her words, an alluring glimmer in her eyes, but she kind of spoils the moment, her hiccup making her jolt.

He leans his head on her shoulder, his own shaking with incredulous laughter. He pulls apart from her, releasing all the air from his lungs. “Where uh, where do you want it?” 

Dilated silvers roll to stare above, chipped nail tapping on her chin. He waits for her silently, gently rubbing his hands on the sides of her waist. She goes to scratch the inside of her wrist and she pauses, staring down at the reddened skin. 

“Right here,” she says, holding out her upturned arm.

“Right there?” He asks, taking a hold of the thin limb, “You're positive.” 

“Mmhm.” 

He keeps his loose grip on her, tugging her with one hand, reaching for black ink with the other. He sits her on the rugged mattress in the corner, going back for the candebella? Candebrilla? Cande…

“Do you know what you want?” He asks, shaking the tiny jar. He sets the glass down, pulling a rather large needle from his breast pocket.

She hums, staring at the smooth canvas below her palm. “I want you to pick,” she decides. 

“Me? Mikasa, I don't know, I - it's uh - well  _ permanent _ ,” he stammers, trying to help her rationalize through the haze of liquor. She just stares, admiring him through nervous babbles, his words almost flying over her head. She looks intently at his nose, picks out the faint freckles dotting across it, fanning out atop his cheeks. “I don't want you to have second thoughts or regrets if -” 

“ _ Eren _ ,” she interrupts, scooting closer to lay her wrist insistently on his thigh. “I said I trust you, remember? I won't regret it. I… I want you to. I only trust you to do this.” 

Eren softens, leaning forward to meet the plush of her mouth, the sweet taste of his own making her smile through their kiss. When they break for air, there's still a tinge of reluctance, conflating with the delight that colors the bluer specks of his irises. She squeezes the hand holding her wrist, eyes eager and impatient. 

“You're crazy,” he chuckles, hovering the needle over the flame. He sets it down to cool, adjusting a pen in his hand.

“Look away,” he whispers, pressing the inked ballpoint onto her skin. “I want it to be a surprise.” Excitement bubbles with his spontaneity, so she does exactly as she’s told. He doesn't take more than two minutes drawing, the light, ticklish movement leaving her tittering. When he tells her it's okay to see, she looks to him first, noticing how he plays with his utensil, scrutinizing his work.

He could've drawn virtually anything on her, but what she sees elicits absolute bliss. The small, blue crescent is drawn carefully, the simplicity of it so perfect and lovely. She can feel his eyes on her, feel the anxiousness as he waits for her to say something, anything. He wrings his hands, watching every twinkle of emotion. 

“It's beautiful…” she laughs breathlessly, feeling over it.

Green shimmers emerald and she's never been so captivated by another's eyes.“... Really? You think so?” 

“I know so,” she replies, reveling in the relief that smooths the lines on his brows. She turns her wrist side to side, brings it close and farther like the mark is a thing of jewelry. She sets it back on his lap, adjusting her legs comfortably beneath the scratchy dress. 

She can tell he's still nervous. But she is too, and somehow, that makes her feel better about it doing this. There's no one she'd rather have but him.

“I'm ready.” 

They both suck in much needed air as he dips the thin metal inside the ink, the reality of what they're about to do easing her mind back into its sober state. They share one last look, and she closes her eyes, feeling the first poke of the ink, then another, and another.

It pinches. A lot. 

She tries to channel the pain with her free hand, fisting and pulling the sheets slowly, as to not disturb his focus. He goes to fill in the small shape but she stops him, clutching his shirt with furrowed brows. He understands and lets her relax, both taking in his progress. 

Her hair veils around her face, locks disheveled from their earlier antics. He hooks her bangs behind her ear carefully, his simple touch initiating something beyond that of innocence. Her nails unbutton faster than he can think and he catches her hands in his, slowing down their kiss. 

“I'm not finished missy,” he murmurs, kissing her again for good measure. She pouts against his mouth and he bites the jutted lip, leaning back to continue. 

Five minutes, many whimpers and apologies later, he's done. 

It's hardly larger than a nickel, but it's all she could want in a tattoo, for her first one. The tissue promptly raises, outlining the delicate shape and he tells her not to worry, its normal. He has a couple himself; one for his mom and another for reasons he has yet to explain. 

“Was I okay?” She asks, her back pressing softly against his chest. 

“For your first one? Definitely. You did better than me.” 

She doesn't believe him at all and he insists it's true. He had to schedule another appointment to have his mom's name finished, it hurt so bad. He did better the second time though, when he got a small sun on his wrist… woah woah woah -

“Wait, let me see your left hand?” He does it without question, amused as she puts two and two together. Literally. 

She presses her right wrist against his left one, looking back and forth, amazed at how much they coincide. 

“Did you - how did I not - what?” 

“Well… I actually didn't plan on this,” he thumbs around the ink, staring at the mark. “I got the sun a week after my grandmother passed. She was like my best friend, y’know? Grandma always called me her little sunshine so obviously,” he wiggles his wrist, laughing sadly. “And when you said you wanted it on your wrist… I don't know, I couldn't help but look at my own. It makes sense, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“You balance me out as person… as a man,” he coughs, starting to look uncomfortable. “What I'm trying to say is that you're my other half, Mikasa. I picked it because you're just like the moon. Y'know… graceful. Radiant. Mysterious, and better yet,” his hands cup her knees, roving up and under the skirt of her dress as his mouth lowers to her ear, “ _ sexy _ .” 

His low and rich tone causes goosebumps to rise and legs clench when his nails graze the inside of her thighs. 

“Really…” she sighs, turning to sit on his lap, picking up where she left off. 

“Really…” 

His fingers pinch the zipper on the back of her dress, tugging down and she follows, her own working on the front of his pants. Clothes shed with the heat of their passion, with burning desire their movements convey. She feels lighter without the strain of her dress, and his without his tux. Her bra becomes slack between them and she can hardly keep up with his hands, the strokes of his tongue along the valley of her chest. He wanted to span out their time together, but when his name is whispered with desperate want, he puts her on her back, shifting between her legs to remove the last articles.

He represents the sun on his wrist like she does the moon. He burns brightly on her worst days, keeps her warm on the coldest, makes the dullness of her mind burst into a particular vibrancy she's thankful to have known. His love for her shines so immensely and suddenly it flashes behind her lids when he presses inside her, tangling their legs and fingers together as they adjust. 

He thrusts just as her hips raise, her moon against his sun, moan after indulgent moan leaving the moistened flesh of their parted mouths. She gasps after a hard thrust, breasts pushing deliciously into his chest. Her hand finds purchase within the strands of his hair, the other dragging five distinct lines between his shoulder blades. Her airy pleads only make him love her harder, elbows above her shoulders to reach deeper, hear her louder. 

Their high washes over and recedes like cerulean waves, his pants cooling the sheen skin of her neck.

Her mind becomes nebulous with incoherent thoughts and she's brought only back to reality when she feels him part from her, finding satisfaction in his tired embrace. The pain on her skin had numbed considerably during, and she thinks back on his small confession at the sight of her crescent.

She's wondered about their relationship from time to time, but she knows now, that he has never second guessed what they have. From the first ‘I love you,’ to the time they first made love, to the moment he picked her tattoo.

She vows to cherish the marking, even when it's faded and wrinkled, even when they're both gone. She swears completely, with the candelabra as her witness. 


	7. Someone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos, as always <3   
> A request for Eren protecting Mikasa from bullies. Enjoy!

Mother always said it's rude to stare. He makes it so difficult, though, with his movements, precise and full of strength. She looks on subtly, over the top of her textbook and lenses,  _ admiring _ him and his lithe body. She hadn't known he was a boxer before this afternoon. But as she watches him in his element, she thinks the aura of it all suits him perfectly. 

Her fingernail picks at the worn corner of her book, scraping harder when the slick skin of his shoulders and arms bulge with power. She bites her lip a little with the determination in his jaded eyes, ankles twisting and turning at the sight of him drinking water, neck exposed just right and collarbones as sharp as his tongue. 

She's never seen Eren like this before, only in the hallways with his energetic and charming persona. Only in chemistry class when he's spaced out and lax directly in front of her. She sometimes fantasizes about building the courage to tap on his shoulder, to speak with the same smoothness he possesses with girls, but it would never happen. Could never happen. 

He's, as they say, out of her league. If her senior class was a caste system, he'd be a king while she wouldn't even fit into the lowest category. She's too quiet and nerdy, too unsociable and dull where he is quite the opposite. Deep down, she knows he'd never go for someone like her. But it never hurts to dream, does it? 

The last few people seated farther on the bleachers begin to gather their material and leave. Once they're gone, it'll only be them two inside the gym. Her anxious fingers fret with the bun of her hair, adjusting the tightness and pulling strands forward to frame her face. She thinks herself silly and naive as she dolls up some, ridiculing herself for believing he'd actually notice her. Her lips press and move lightly, smearing some flavored gloss as she fixes her glasses, pretending to be focused and suddenly the sound of his fists meeting the suspended bag cease. She glances up in time to see him throw a towel over his shoulder, gulping down water as he disappears into the locker room. 

She wants to slap herself for the pangs of disappointment that shake her heart. She should have never anticipated for something to happen when she's no one to him. She gathers her belongings with a curl of longing, frustration flaring when her hair falls from her bun again. She tears the tie out, setting her reading glasses atop her books wistfully.

She makes the familiar way to her locker, shoulders rolling with the uncomfortable weight of her bag. She hears rhythmic vibrations from the side of her purse, and she sets her stuff down, unlocking the device. 

_ Sorry Mikasa, looks like you're going to have to walk home again. Your father is coming late too. Don't wait up on us. Love you. _

Of course.

She wants to throw her assignments in the air, leave them and her too heavy bookbag behind and take the little dignity she has left but she just  _ can't _ .

She closes her locker slowly, feeling significantly heavier when she leans down to gather her things. She drops her glasses in the midst of it all, the matte frame sliding away. Sighing, she sets her books back on the floor, going to retrieve them when Nori beats her to it, mouth stretching into that grin she hates so much. His band of followers aren't far behind, standing idly like spectators. The stillness of the hall has her heart racing and she knows this won't end well. It never does. 

“Missing something, Mikasa?” 

She swallows, outstretching her trembling hand. “Give them back. Please.”

He waves them about tauntingly, and she has no choice but to step into his trap, into the little game he loves to play. She reaches and he pulls back each time, eliciting snickers from behind. She waits a second, letting him wiggle them before her when she snatches them clean from his stubby fingers, tucking them neatly into her breast pocket. She kneels back down, fingers just grazing her bag when she's knocked over forcefully,

The laughs come louder and she hears the clatter of her utensils, her notebooks, her everything and anger flares. 

She stands defiantly, going towards the clutter and Noki blocks her, face falling menacingly. She shoves him out of the way, only to have her head meet the knob of a nearby locker. A gasp of pain and then her hair is being pulled, nose dragging defeatedly along the floor and she doesn't recall yelling, but her throat feels a bit raw and the laughs and remarks keep coming. Tears well and they coo unsympathetically at her. She spits at them when the crouch to her level and her vision flashes white when one of the girls hits her, wiping saliva off her chin. 

She can only cover her head then, and she only cranes her neck when a crack and a grunt come from above. 

Eren is standing between her and Noki’s group, shielding her wordlessly. She’s surprised at the lack of response from them. From between his legs, she can see Noki bent over, clutching his jaw as one girl attends to him. 

“Walk away.”

He says it like a threat, tone as powerful as his jabs. All of them begin to back up, kicking her bag again as if they're trying to get the last word. The closing door echoes throughout the hall and he helps her sit against the bottom lockers, gathering her things while she wipes the blood from her nostril. 

She in such a daze, wondering if he really just defended her, protected her from them. Her racing heart jumps into her throat when the warm skin of his palms cup her cheeks, lightly turning them side to side to inspect her face. 

“Are you hurt anywhere else, Mikasa?” 

He knows her name. Eren actually knows her name. He's looking at her lips now, blinking back up slowly to meet her quivering gaze and  _ Jesus Christ he's gorgeous. _

Seconds pass of just her  _ processing _ and she jolts internally, gathering her muddled thoughts.

“M-my head…” she feels over the small bump on the side, tears beginning to well again because this is so embarrassing. Her imaginary first conversation never went like this. But there is no judgment within his jaded eyes, just understanding and he helps her stand, letting her use him as a crutch. She feebly grabs her backpack, just lifting it a couple inches off the ground.

“How did… how did you find me?” She can’t help but wonder, surely he didn't see her walk out, hadn't even noticed her in the gym, so just… how?

“You screamed. I couldn't understand, but I heard you,” he says plainly, like he’s talking about how his day went. “I was shocked at first, you're always so quiet. I was in the middle of putting my stuff awa-”

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause you any trouble, I just - I just -”

“It’s  _ fine _ . I'm glad you did. No one else has the balls to stand up to that bastard. It could have been really bad for you.”

She’s rendered speechless,  _ breathless _ at his underlying sincerity and the feel of his toned body, his eyes on  _ her _ .

“Well the nurse is definitely gone, I'm sure. How are you getting home?” 

“I - I don't have a - I'm walking,” she blurts, trying to suppress whatever the hell she's getting from his hand pressing into her waist. 

“Walking? Like this? That's not a good idea.” You're telling her. “My car is right outside. I was about to head out, so I could take you home - That is! - um well, if you want… I don't really care - I mean I do! It's.. your call.” 

Since when is he the inarticulate one?

“I’d really appreciate that... uh…” she trails off, feeling dizzy.

“Eren,” he says, leading them outside.

Her head snaps up, “huh?” 

“My name. It's Eren.” She thinks back to a few seconds before, realizing that it sounded like she was asking for his name. It's kind of ironic, really.

For once, she doesn't screw up and she isn't invisible. Of all people, Eren was the last person she thought she would befriend, much less talk to. But she's so happy because despite the fact that she's no one, she finally feels like she someone as he helps her into his car. She’s probably reading too much into this when she knows he's only trying to help. 

But she can pretend, if only for a little.    
  
  



	8. Guiding Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was a little idea I got the other day, and with some time to spare I managed to write it :) As always, thank you guys so much for reading and leaving kudos.
> 
> This is more of a 50s AU. Enjoy!

There is always some kind of rush when they do this. Their eyes have learned to navigate through the shadows of night, mindful of where and where not to step. They know which floorboards of her porch creek, which way to go to avoid the watchful eye of her neighbor's yappy dog. They move quickly with years of practice, so quietly he’s amazed at how easy it is to sneak out with her. It gives him an odd sense of pride, even though their antics are nothing to be proud of. 

He should feel terrified, for her mostly. He loves her parents, but they're not ones to be lied to. There's a voice of reason as he gently grasps her waist, as helps his best friend out of her bedroom window. It's telling him to change her mind, to tell her she doesn't have to come with him. But she is so insistent because they don't see much of each other anymore and she really wants to see what he built, how could he ever have the heart? He finds no need to though, because her sleepy smiles and airy giggles of relief drown out the logic in his conscious. Her excitement is electric but subtle, like tiny shocks felt on his fingers as she takes a hold of them and it's her who leads them to his bicycle. 

“I hope they work this time,” she says, squeezing his shoulders when she climbs on the pegs. He adjusts his apple cap, tossing the sides of his open button up to his sides.

“Me too,” he chuckles. The stand is kicked back with his heel, legs balancing out their weight. “Ready?”

Her  _ yes _ is caught in a yawn, the heat of it ghosting the shell of his ear. 

The chains spin slowly, wheels gradually increasing speed until her house is a shapeless silhouette behind them. He feels bad for taking her out this late, but there's no other way. He has a full-time job and she has school and curfew, paths seldom crossing. He’s missed her, missed the time they spent playing and talking almost endlessly underneath their tree. It was only yesterday that her tiny hands wove flower crowns for him and her, that he practiced running and climbing trees so he could finally best her. 

She’s about to graduate too, already thinking about college and he wants her to go, to learn and experience everything, to be her own person. But thinking about it only brings pain, his chest beginning to hollow. 

“You okay?”

“Hm?”

“You seem tense. Is something wrong?”

Yes. 

“No, I'm just a little worried about the lanterns.”  _ You're going to leave me _ . “But if they do catch fire again, I placed a bucket of water nearby.”

Her shoulders jerk with a snort, her forehead leaning against the crown of his head. 

“Okay, Eren.” The wind blows her hair about, the ends tickling his neck, the fragrance of it filling his nose. “I'm sure you learned your lesson. You’ll be fine.”

“I hope so,” he sighs, slowing down beside a narrow trail. “This is like, the fifteenth time I built the thing.”

She steps off carefully, waiting for him to do the same before they both tread towards the tree. He makes his way through the tall grass, through tall grass, to the abandoned shed a little ways away from where she stands, retrieving two lanterns from within. 

She is shocked when he has two, laughs when he tells her it's a backup, just in case things go south.

“Isn't that what you want it to do?” 

“I meant figuratively. Smart ass.” She huffs her amusement through her nostrils, kneeling down next to him.

“Will you hold it for me?” He digs into his pocket, pulling a lighter out. 

“Of course.” 

They stand a bit farther away from the tree, out of the dry grass because the last thing they need is not only for her to get caught sneaking out, but to get charged with arson.

“The bucket is right behind the tree, in case you didn't notice.” He says it slowly,  his tone full of warning. The tiny flame dances vibrantly between them, illuminating her grin as she bites it back, nodding her understanding.

He takes his time drawing the flame closer to the lantern’s inner ring, telling her to hold it out further from her clothes. 

He thinks too soon because the lit ring curls the ends of the thin paper with its heat and she drops it, ready to run for the bucket. He halts her when the flame starts to die, the light being smothered by the moist grass. 

He curses, grabbing the bridge of his nose while muttering his frustration. He reaches down and inspects the burnt structure, scrutinizing for a solution. Eventually, he tosses it, placing his hands on his hips, rolling his neck side to side. He hadn't noticed Mikasa walk away until he hears the crunch of twigs nearby. His eyes fall to her figure as she walks closer to him, his second prototype in her arms. 

They don't speak until she stands a foot away. 

“You still have another one,” she whispers encouragingly, handing it to him. “Let’s see how this one works out.” 

His anxiousness must be apparent because she helps him out, plucking the lighter from his fingers. His arms shake a little when she has him hold it, afraid of the outcome.  He closes his eyes, panics some when the pads of his fingers warm suddenly. He let's go when he thinks he's going to get burned, ears waiting for the inevitable  _ splat _ of the paper. No such noise comes and he snaps his eyes open, immediately greeted with the sight he's been waiting so long for. 

Mikasa sighs in delight, both of them craning their neck with the lantern’s increasing height. 

“It's… working?”

“It is,” she assures, her own eyes reflecting his wonderment. 

“Oh - oh my god!” he laughs, grabbing at his hair. “It finally worked!”

He repeats like a mantra, lifting her in his arms to spin her around playfully. He sets her down and she is giggling that cute giggle of hers, smiling that lovely smile of hers and she is warm and radiant beneath the limpid moonlight and he is so happy that can't help it, he presses his mouth to hers. Her lips are as soft as the flame within the ascending object, flesh as sweet and rosy and it feels so nice...

He breaks from her immediately, horrified that he just crossed  _ that _ line. He  _ kissed Mikasa _ , who seems just as dumbfounded and wide-eyed as him. 

“I - uh s-shit, um I don't know what I was - thinking I-I’m sorry…” A kiss has never left him so nervous, so hazy with want and  _ wow _ if she wasn't blushing so beautifully maybe he wouldn't be so damn inarticulate.

She isn't saying anything and his pulse goes from one hundred to two hundred. He laughs nervously, scratching his cheek and blabbering his relief as the lantern becomes an orange dot against the empty sky, awkwardly trying to play it off. 

She looks back too, getting the message. She clears her throat, unconsciously touching her lip. “Y-yeah…” She sounds so timid, more than usual and she fidgets with her outfit, pulling the collar of her summer dress, adjusting the tiny white bow in her hair. 

It's quiet after that, crickets, rustling leaves, and her shuffling feet filling the silence for them. His lips burn still and he isn't sure what to say. What does one do after kissing their best friend?

“Can… can we sit?” 

He supposes that’ll do for now. 

There is an ample amount of space between them underneath the tree and he scoots closer only when she shivers, taking his button up off to cover the skin of her legs. She murmurs her thanks and when she bites her lip, he suspects that she wants to tell him something and he thinks he knows what it is.

“I got my acceptance letter from Chesterton,” she announces, voice lacking the happiness it should have. She's told him about the school before, it's her dream. His heart throbs.

“... Isn't that an hour or so from here?”

“Mm.”

“Well,” he coughs, chin pressing atop of his knee. “That's amazing Mikasa. I'm really happy for you.”

She folds her legs into her chest, her arms settling on them. Her smooth, silver gaze meets his, cheek smushed on top of her forearm. “You don't sound like it.”

She's always been good at reading him.

“No… I am, really. I knew all along you were going to get in. I just don't see you all that much anymore, and now you're really going. I'm… It's just - I'm really going to miss you. I am missing you.”

“Is that why you kissed me?”

His blood warms, stomach churning at her question. He didn't think she’d straight out ask him why he did. But she could be right. 

“Maybe.”

The crickets get louder.

“Oh.”

“I think did it cause…” her ears seem to perk. “I was really happy that the lantern finally flew. And you looked so happy too and… I don't know, it just felt like I should. The last thing I want is to make things weird between us, especially now. So please… please forgive me.” He really doesn't want her to think it was a mistake because it wasn't. It was more the spur of one fleeting moment, but perhaps her acceptance letter, the feel of her mouth was what he needed to realize just how much he wants her. As someone more. Always as his best friend. 

She scoots closer and he's sure her mama is going to kill her for the dirt staining the white pattern of her dress. “There's nothing to forgive, Eren. It was...nice.”  

“Then - I have one question.”

“What is it?”

“Could I kiss you again?” 

She tents her hands over her mouth, hiding her embarrassment. She nods and he pulls them away without hesitation, his hands cupping her jaw to bring her closer. 

Her hands cuff his wrists, making their way along his arm until they pause at his shoulders, fingers clutching the fabric there. Her breath stutters through her nose and he breaks the kiss just to laugh into the curve of her neck. She embraces him then,  _ thanks _ him then. It's almost a silly thing to thank him for, but he feels the same.

Like everything else in this world, their time together draws to an end and he helps her stand, walking her down the slope of this old hill.

“You’ll come visit me right?” 

“I will.”

“Promise?”

“I promise you, Mikasa Ackerman.”

Twined hands swing side to side like they did once when he was ten, her nine. The ghost of their childhood lingers, endemic memories so beautiful and bright, woven between the dry grass, engraved in the bark of their tree, presence forever in the air that rustles their clothes as they ride back to her house. 

He has a whole summer full of this to look forward to; her summer dresses, sweet strawberry kisses, little pastel bows and many more lanterns he vowed to make for her, teach her even.

He kisses her goodnight, promising to see her again with a wink that colors her cheeks. His smug grin is wiped clean from his face when the dog starts barking and he  _ dips _ , too young to get murdered by her father. She still has his shirt and he hopes she can find a good hiding spot for it.

He thinks about her when he lays down later that night, about where their future will take them, if they will even have one together. But when he sees the lantern she lit floating freely over his street, there isn't a fiber of doubt in his being. He hopes,  _ prays _ she knows that.


	9. Impossible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little drabble. College Angst.

It's different looking at her these days. 

He can always pick out her specific features in the deepest of crowds, but along with them, comes another set. He’s standing right beside her, close enough to see the flecks of gray hidden within the pure ink of her irises. Close enough to feel the heat of her skin, the fluttering sensation her proximity tends to give. 

He has to look away. Before someone sees the jealousy furrowing his brows, before they question the anguish clenching his jaw. Before she catches his eyes, making them cast aside awkwardly. 

It could have been him, with his arm wrapped around her shoulders, holding her closer to lavish her with compliments that make the bridge of her nose crinkle and color hues of rose.  

It was possible.

She could have been his.

But she's not and it's still hard to accept it. To accept  _ them _ even though he should _. _ After all, it was him who was a stupid, cowardly boy. 

Doing lab together is both his curse and her blessing. She laughs at his jokes and he is left dazed at the familiar chime of it. The teacher’s insult pulls him out it soon enough, making him each student snicker yet no one can see the hazardous thoughts that begin to dominate his mind. She looks to him confused so he grins tightly. His smile is well practiced, facade impenetrable. He can't let her see, he won't. Her knowing the truth wouldn't change anything. She probably chose another because she convinced herself of the same. In the end. that man is still a better choice for her because he wasn't the one that took years to notice her, one that laughed off their drunken kiss while she cried wistfully at her impulsive gesture.

There isn't a drop of regret now, only underlying happiness that he wishes he could have given, knows he could've if he had the chance. She is calm and focused, picking at her nail polish as silver moves carefully, repeatedly to understand the directions. He wants to move closer to show her how to properly work the microscope, wants to look her directly in the eye when they speak, wants to spend time with her like they used to, confess his desires and channel them the only way he can.

He wants.

A lot. Too much.

But he can't have what was never his to begin with.


	10. Novice

In the years since they first met, they've learned each other like no one else. They have grown and reached a delicate balance, memorized the rich thrum of the others heart when death filled the gaping silence. But _this_ , what they're doing now, is something different and utterly new to her. While she had come very close before, she's never quite experienced intimacy of this kind. Pale hands quake as they rest tentatively at his sides, embarrassment flaring when his darker ones squeeze her thighs, a strange noise escaping her throat.

She means to shy away but he only brings her closer, pushing gingerly behind her head, holding her trembling palm to his chest. She wonders if he can feel how much she's shaking - how insecure she really is. She doesn't want this to be bad.

Calming her nerves is a formidable task, especially with his hands feeling over her like _that_. A rhythm strikes eventually, his bangs tickling her nose with every new angle, every swipe.

When she imagined her first kiss, it was a transient moment of simplicity, a peck at the most. She'd be at his side, lying beneath the aged oak as their fingers pick out pictures within the clouds, piles of firewood abandoned at their sides. She'd wait for the _perfect moment,_ just  like her other trainees had once expressed. She never saw it coming, much less thought it’d be _him_ who leaned in first.

Sometimes the weight of the world is just too much, even for his broad shoulders to carry. She put her hand on his forearm to comfort him, to silently offer him solace like she had always done. Something was different this time, though. There was a hollowness within his pupils, one that she’s sure her own have reflected in the past.

The smooth texture of his tongue laves slowly at her neck and she struggles to remember the exact second he moved closer. She can only recall the first feel of another's mouth on hers, how strange… and how warm it felt. How _pleasant_...

“... Are you... okay?”

He speaks between the kisses he trails on her neck, pressing one to the parted flesh of her lips.

She swallows, nodding a little too quickly, her forehead bumping his. He thumbs over her pulse, pulling back to whisper an apology.

“For - for what...?”

“This,” he murmurs, dragging a lone finger across her swollen lip. “I don't want you to think that I'm just…” his palm slides up and down her arm, clouded sage meeting the haze of her eyes, “taking advantage of you being here, with everything going on…”

His words reverberate softly, somewhat bittersweet. The thought had never even occurred to her, would never. Seldom does he speak to her this way, so intimately and so close, only for her to hear.

“It's okay… it was good.” He's laughing airly then, at her comment she presumes. It was awkward, but the heat of his breath alleviates it all the same.

“You were good too… Thank you, Mikasa.”

His nose bumps against hers, mouth moving questioningly closer. She meets him halfway in response, swallowing his sounds, tasting - _relishing_ in his sincerity.  


	11. Falling From Above

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read over this once, so please forgive me if it's crap. P.S... thank you so much for the kudos!

She better not utter a single complacent remark. Walking home in the rain is one thing. But doing so with the one person who explicitly warned him this morning is nothing short of upsetting. Nearly humiliating. 

She holds the umbrella over both of them, but it does nothing to keep his limbs from shivering. His clothing had already soaked by the time she reached him. There wasn't any point in covering him now, but she is unyielding, defined by her persistence. He shouldn't be mad, at her of all things so he temporarily disregards his pride, mumbling his thanks with a nudge to her arm. It leaves a bittersweet taste on his tongue, but she hums her response nonetheless as they continue. 

The cool air cuts through the damp fabric consistently, making the unwillful clatter of his teeth audible. Goosebumps flare along his skin and he curses his obstinance. The handle of her girlish umbrella is shoved within his hands in the seconds following, effectively halting his tracks. She unbuttons the thick material of her jacket with nimble fingers, carefully throwing the warm material over his shoulders. His irritation and culpability heighten some because she shouldn't have to suffer for his stupid choices. 

“Mikasa, don't. Put the jacket back on, I'm fine.”

“You're not. Your uniform is completely wet and it's cold out here. You'll get sick.” 

“Hey -” 

“Don't worry,” she says, just loud enough to hear above the pelting drops. Her hands pull lightly at her long sleeve, “I still have this. I don't get sick easily, remember?” She adjusts her jacket along his shoulders, covering more of his torso. “It's okay.” 

The crinkle of her eyes is as soft and natural as her smile. He directs his gaze elsewhere, pouting at the rising heat in his face as they start again. “You're so stubborn.” 

“You and me both.” 

He tugs an inky lock for that comment, pulling her closer by the waist when he sees droplets clinging to the stands. 

“Eren -”

“You're getting wet cause you're not standing completely underneath. And just because you don't get sick easily doesn't mean you won't.” 

She feels tense in his hold, posture stiff and unmoving. It makes him wonder if his gesture was a little too much but she relaxes quickly enough, both unconsciously syncing their steps. The scent of her shampoo fills his nose smoothly, pleasantly and any vexation he initially had is soothed when they finally get home. The feeling completely withered when he taps on her window, their houses having little to no interstice between and hands her back the coat. There's the grace of her smile again, the one he secretly hopes that it's reserved for him and him only.


	12. Shape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabble :)

She’s watched him progress and grow year by year, felt how the chubby flesh of his fingers gradually became calloused with strength and unyielding purpose. His touch had been such a rarity, so fleeting up until the war ended. She had quickly accustomed to the playful tug of her bangs, the lingering grip when they spared alone together. Their relationship bloomed slowly but sweetly, her hand in his more often than not.

What she cherishes the most are the memories they hold, forever in the shape of his palms.

She remembers the first time her clothes littered his floor, how eagerly his fingers undid the most strenuous parts of their uniform. Their rough grip made her gasp, heated caresses evoking the most embarrassing of moans. They pinned her own above the short tendrils of raven hair, squeezing reassuringly with his movements. 

The brush of his knuckles coaxed her into consciousness, nails raking her scalp to smooth back her hair like they did the night before. He had laughed at her bedhead then, redressing her while sneaking in touches that made her want to pull him back down and start over again. 

It's impossible to forget when he slipped a beautiful ring on her finger and promised her eternity all over again, how one hand pulled her hair back while the other rubbed her back to soothe the morning sickness a year later. 

Even now as they run over the perfect swell of her belly she imagines all the memories they have yet to make. She pretends she asleep and listens to loving words he murmurs to their child who apparently isn't. He whispers  _ how beautiful and loving mommy is _ and she battles the tears that collect unwillingly. Her hand moves to cover his and he sighs, the breath of it ghosting warmly over her nape. 

She really,  _ really _ hopes their baby takes after him.

 


	13. Wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos!!!!

There's always guilt when he wakes up from a fever. The moist cloth slips off his forehead when he sits up, hands balling the sheets at the sight of her uncomfortable posture at his side. He never knows how much time she wastes watching over him, she never tells. A spoon at his lips is the only response, but if he's learned anything these past couple years, it's that he shouldn’t argue. It's natural for her to take care of him like she always had. But these wounds aren't small cuts or bruises from defiance. They run much deeper, and last  _ a lot _ longer. It definitely seems that way.

Hanji doesn't know why he's healing slower this time, so the best thing for him at this point is to just rest for a couple days. How  _ perfect. _

For each hiss of pain comes a mantra of apologies. It's annoying because Mikasa shouldn’t be sorry for his mistakes. He sucks it up, biting his lip to silence the whimpers that threaten to escape. It's futile trying to hide anything from her, though, because she wraps the gauze slower, gentler like he's made of paper thin glass. He whispers his gratitude solemnly, shutting his eyes to numb the soreness of his body. 

She is quick to give him water when he coughs dryly, helps him walk and work his muscles so  _ he doesn't feel useless _ . He doesn’t know why she invests so much in him. He thinks he knows somewhere in the back of his mind, but her nails running through his hair prevent his thoughts from being anything coherent. When she isn't watching him, her eyes are glued to words that depict a whole other universe. He almost asks if she can read her book aloud, but the thought alone is childish and somewhat horrifying to request, so he settles for silence. Her fingers brush his hair back over and over again, effectively soothing his headache and it's never felt so  _ nice _ to be dependent on someone, on her of all. 

Liable is how he’d usually describe himself in this situation. Somehow, though, she knows how to convince him otherwise. She keeps him company when she can, entertains even the most ridiculous of notions. It's strange, but Mikasa has become his favorite distraction. 


	14. Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm venting my angst ;-;

She knows he doesn't mean to make her cry. Sometimes she just catches him at the wrong moment, oversteps their bounds a little. Of course, he finds her later and they talk, his apologies hidden between explanations and misunderstandings. That’s what she could always count on; him coming back at the end of the day not as a soldier with a heavy purpose, but as Eren, who always thinks and acts with his heart. The one she and Armin wove flower crowns with before the fall. Before any of this.

He doesn’t seem as solemn as he did when they first resumed their duties, but he isn’t overflowing with determination either. She can feel his drive fading, and hers, with it. For different reasons, she thinks, or rather knows. Her stomach hasn’t stopped churning since his revelation back when they were behind bars. It’s hard _not_ to think about it. He was so strong in her eyes, immortal even. It seemed as though Eren could overcome just about anything. They have evaded so much; she's done her best to _protect_ both of her friends from so much. This, however, is something out of her hands. Something that not even an infinite amount of praying could fix.

By now, they must've noticed how delicate she treats them, going as far as refusing to let them spar. Eren’s complaints drown out Armin’s reasoning, and she wishes how he could see the severity of their situation, wishes that for once he would take himself into consideration now more than ever. Not just for him, but for her.

Levi thinks she’s being too overbearing but she's not sure if he understands. If anyone in the legion could. She can barely look at either of them without seeing an expiration date hanging off them like a tag. Eren more so than Armin.

So when both she and him take supplies in from outside, she always leaves the lighter crates for him, much to his annoyance.

“C’mon, Mikasa. It's okay I can take this one in.”

“No.”

“I’m completely fine! I can’t let you shoulder everything!”

“It’s fine.”

“Then let me help you with it.”

“Eren-”

“It’s easier this way. Neither of us are carrying the weight entirely. Just let me help, damn it.”

She doesn’t want to upset him any further so she silently complies, moving to one side of the crate and he the other.

They lift on his count, walking slowly towards the back door. It is much easier, but her worry heightens as the box shakes with his trembling arms.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. We’re almost there.” She allows herself to believe him for his sake, adjusting her grip in case he misses a step.

They make it pass the door and inside the old chamber sooner than she expected and they set the crate down, alongside the others. He dusts off his hands and places them on his hips triumphantly.

“See, I told you I could handle it.” He grins proudly, but it falters quickly when crimson trickles from his nostril and he swears, the pads of his fingers catching some droplets. Neither of them move for what seems like hours, both of them shocked.

“I-I haven't transformed in - in _weeks_ , how could this…?”

Her fingers reach inside the pocket of her jacket, pinching and pulling out a clean handkerchief. She sits him down on the same box they carried in, quietly cleaning the blood from his upper lip. He stares off, eyes completely empty. The look brings memories unpleasant beyond measure and suddenly, her throat knots. He notices her watching him, scratching the back of his head.

“This is probably nothing, I swear I’m… Mikasa?”

Tears are flowing from her eyes as she cleans him, brushing the cloth against him as if she was polishing thin glass. She hics, loudly enough that it echoes through the cluttered room and she places the cloth in his palm to finish, turning away. It's too hard to look at him, the image alone shattering her heart over again. Her head throbs painfully and she sighs, holding her hand against it. She hadn’t cried when she first learned of their eventual demise, but now it seems more real than ever. Sobs and tears spill and she doesn’t care that he’s right there, but yes she does cause she loves him so much and she's going to _lose_ her world again. And it only continues to mock her strength.

“Mikasa?” She shakes her head vigorously, waving him off but of course, he doesn’t play into it. She keeps her eyes averted, looking down with blurred vision at the bloodied handkerchief in his hands. He wraps his fingers around her arms, unsure and hesitant.

“Don't… don't be sad.” How can she not be? She is upset and so very terrified to continue on knowing that he and Armin are leaving her behind. They are not to blame, she knows. But she's so hollow and she's aching too much. He pulls her closer, rubbing her back.

“I didn't mean to make you cry.”

“Y-you… you didn't, I.. I know. It just - hurts to s-see you like this.” Her sentences are shaky, voice absolutely pathetic. She can’t do this to him, add unnecessary guilt to the crippling weight on his shoulders.

“I'm sorry - I'm sorry, I’m just - just -” She pulls away, but he keeps her there, arms sturdier than she's ever felt.

“I understand. It's okay.” There’s nothing else to say. They both know that there is only so much consolation someone can offer. So all she does is just breathe. Breathe in his scent, calm down and remember this. Remember how warm and gentle his embrace has always been, remember how warm and gentle his soul will always be. Remember the depth of his voice and eyes. _Remember him_ and wrap her arms around him with a smile.


	15. Pink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for the kudos! <333  
> Anonymous request for Eren, Annie, Armin & Mikasa to go on a blind date! (and for the ladies to swap men). Enjoy!

When she gasps, her hand accidentally slips, pink lipstick dragging out from the corner of her mouth and onto her cheek. Annie had entered the restroom quietly, spoke so suddenly. She supposes her friend had always been that way, but the last thing she expected was for Annie to follow her in here.

“Wait… what?”

“I said switch with me.”

“But - why?” Her date couldn’t have been that terrible. “Is there something wrong with Eren?”

Annie joins her at the sinks, leaning against the counter as she folds her arms.

“It’s not that there’s something wrong with him. He’s just not my type. It’s obvious I’m not his either.”

“Annie, you just met him.”

“Yeah, I know that.”

“Then don’t you think it’s a bit early to tell?

“Maybe. But there isn’t no connection. His blonde friend seems more interesting to me.”

She can’t help a light-hearted scoff, turning back to the mirror with a napkin. “Wel,l he _was_ the one holding most of the conversation.”

They are lucky that Armin had just returned from Spain, otherwise she’s positive the night would’ve ended a lot sooner. It’s normal for Annie to be silent, but Armin seemed a lot more timid than her date. Maybe Eren isn’t used to this kind of thing.

The friction of the paper towel reddens her cheek some, leaving behind pink smudges that make her tongue click. “Neither of you were talking actually. It was just me and Armin.”She holds the edge of the towel underneath the faucet, twisting the knob.

“He was looking at you.”

Those words distract her, causing the makeshift wipe to dampen entirely. Gosh darn it.

She furrows her brows at Annie, wringing the napkin. “Huh?”

“Eren. I noticed how he’d watch every time you spoke. I think you should’ve been his blind date, not me.”

Even though she doesn’t know anything besides his name, the thought is… surprisingly flattering. She dabs at the smeared makeup, contemplating.

“So,” Annie starts, “how about it?”

She can’t help but feel guilty. “What if you’re wrong? What if he’s actually interested in you?”

“I already said, Mikasa. He’s not. I don’t mean to assume, but it doesn’t seem like you’re very attracted to his friend either.”

Well. There is kind of a point there. He is very intelligent and lively, obviously compassionate about history and the arts. Nothing is wrong about him at all but she thinks she’s starting to see where Annie is coming from.

She tosses the towel, sighing.

“Alright.”

Armin continues their conversation once both of them return to their respective seats, somehow keeping them all entertained. Well, mostly all of them. She becomes nervous when she feels green eyes on her, his gaze continuously flickering from his hands, to Armin, then to her. Why hadn’t she noticed it before? She watches him carefully from the corner of her eye, quick to look away when she thinks he’ll catch her. He is pretty handsome. Doesn’t really seem like he would be a quiet one. This - switch - is going to be harder than she thought. They really should have thought about this more before they came back.

Her straw begins collecting the last drops of her drink rather obnoxiously, ice cubes clinking against the glass. She stands from the booth, deciding to grab another drink before devising a plan.

“I’ll be back. I’m going to get another drink.” She gives a polite smile, barely taking a step when Eren’s voice halts her.

“Wait! I’ll uh - come with you.” He wrestles his way behind Armin, almost tripping over his feet. She steals a glance back at the table. His cup is still full. Annie smirks and inside, she can feel her heart doing a tiny flip.

“Okay.”

They walk side by side, looking anywhere but each other. Her inner monologue becomes a battle for words, hands subconsciously picking the fastening of her purse. _Talk just talk_. Smoothing down her dress, she turns to him.

“So-”

“So-”

Two sets of wide eyes meet, expressions mirrored perfectly before they share a shaky laugh, taking their last steps towards the bar.

“You first,” he offers.

“Oh um.” Shit. Her thoughts have already slipped. “No, it’s okay, you first.”

Eren smiles and she’s already charmed by it. So friendly and welcoming and boyish -

“I was going to ask if you’ve ever been here before.”

“Ah, a couple times. But it was never really by choice,” she admits. “You?”

“Ha… Well -”

“Well well, if it isn’t the _bullheaded bastard_. Here to cause more trouble?”

Her immediate reaction is confusion. She looks between both Eren and the Bartender leaning against the table, the former wringing his hands anxiously.

“You uh, still remember me?”

“How could I forget the two lightweights that nearly turned this place upside down?”

“Look, I’m _really_ sorry about that. Not here to cause any trouble, sir. I just came for a small drink.”

“Oh ho ho no, I don’t think that’s a good idea.One turns to three and I can’t keep an eye on you.”

“No need to worry, cause uh -” Eren points to her. “She will.”

What.

Eren winks. “Right?”

Both men are looking to her, waiting.

His flirty gesture puts her in a daze, momentarily muddling her thoughts until she remembers herself, the bridge of her nose matching the pink shade of her lips.

“Y-yeah, I’ll um. Watch over him.”

The Bartender eyes the two of them, pulling out two cups.

“You seem responsible. I’ll take your word for it, kid.”

She holds her questions till their drinks are poured, stays silent until the man walks away.

“I know what you’re wondering.  _What was that all about_.”

She chuckles, nodding her head.

“It happened when I was a junior in college. Me and a… an acquaintance got stupid drunk and well, ‘nearly turned the place upside down.’ Both of us almost got arrested.”

“Oh my gosh, what exactly did you two do?” Eren shifts in place, rubbing the back of his neck abashedly.

“It’s actually a long story. Pretty crazy one at that. Do you still wanna hear it?”

She looks back at the pair they left behind, not at all shocked at the way Annie smiles at another one of Armin’s enthusiastic experiences, for once willingly exchanging conversation. There’s contentment between the two and she faces Eren, returning his grin. The stool screeches against the tiled floor as she pulls, making him laugh when she pats the one next to her.

“I’m going to need more than a couple shots for this. Promise you’ll watch on me?”

She takes a moment to scoot a little closer, eyes glimmering with the anticipation of a child.

“Promise.”


	16. Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secret Santa gift from me to askladarmin on Tumblr! Happy Holidays guys :) <3   
> Heads up, this one is explicit.

Times like these will always be his favorite. The ease that settles over is foreign but very pleasant. A relief really. They clean thin sheets of snow, chop bundles of wood, return from the market with goods that his mother considered a luxury. Carrying out these errands are actually a lot more effortless than he used to think. It’s almost like they’re not in the middle of a war and instead, living the life he knows she’s secretly dreamed about. It’s only temporary, but it’s much preferable to hours of running, sparring, testing until he literally drops.

For him, it’s a bit disturbing to see how susceptible he’s become to exhaustion, but the way she responds to his touch always gives him a burst of inexplicable energy. Especially when he knows he shouldn’t be messing around with her. Distracting Mikasa had never been so easy or nearly as amusing. Her adamance to finish work remains unwavered, but now it never takes much to ruin her concentration and for him, today is hardly an exception. After all, he had always been quite the procrastinator.

There’s been nothing other than talk of the important dinner the Legion had planned earlier this month, making everyone rush with limited help. He’d think that Sasha would be assigned to the kitchen, but somehow he and Mikasa ended up with the task, one he  _should_  be helping her with. She whispers as much, squeezing his knuckles as if she’s unsure whether she wants to press them harder into her hips or remove them completely.

His hand only moves to brush aside impeding strands of hair, hooking and nudging aside the velvet material knotted around her neck.

“We have to - ah… Eren, wait…”

She turns in his embrace, most probably to scold him so he draws her closer, his mouth and fingers smoothing back over her figure.

“Why - how come you… have to - always -” He sucks a little harder and feels the bob of her throat, greedily taking delight in her struggle for words. He kisses up to her ear, finishes for her.

“Distract you?” He expects a shove or at the very least a glare when he leans back, but there are hardly any traces of displeasure. Only vague shades of pink color the normally blank canvas of her face.  

“Yeah.”

Thin palms slide up his torso, reaching to adjust the looseness of his apron.

“I need to finish fixing these.”

She isn’t moved by his whines or the tentative rubs on her waist and gently untangles herself from him. Dropping his head, he watches her move back to the pies, oogles the supple lining of skin that shows as she reaches for a small thing of spice. The lid pops, wafting a distantly familiar aroma into the air.

“Come help me,” she says, adjusting her scarf. “We need to hurry. If the wood inside the oven burns out, I’m sending you in the cold to get more.”

The threat has an opposite effect, only encouraging his mischievous thoughts. The bottom of her blouse comes undone the moment his chest meets her back again, digits moving to play with the hem of the pale brown skirt. The container hits the counter with an exaggerated thud, a cloud of brown puffing out.

“Ere-”

“What’s the magic word…” His teeth tug at her lobe, nails toying with the fastening and he can see her lashes fluttering.

The smell of cinnamon mixes with her hair, adding to its alluring scent.

“We don’t have much time to-” his middle and ring dip beneath, caressing the top of her underwear. He can feel her legs shifting, almost see the way they clench as he outlines the edge.

“Word, Mikasa.”

The flame crackles.

“… Please.”

Grey eyes blink and there’s already three more pans set out on the counter. It takes her moments to register his absence, longer to break from her confused daze. Flour flies over the raw dough and he kneads, putting pressure but never too much. Just like she showed him. He pauses to fix some over the diced apples, double taking her.

“What are you staring for? C’mon,  _help me_  with these.”

Mikasa flushes, shoving down the lopsided bottom of her blouse before turning away. The point of his elbow bumps her arm teasingly, but he only smiles when she (eventually) returns the gesture.

 

Peeler and apron aside, a breath of finality is shared between the two. Swiping away the moisture at his hairline, he takes a moment to appreciate his, no  _her_  handiwork browning inside the oven. There’s the rustle of her apron as she removes it, placing and folding it neatly beside the balled up mess of his.

“Thank you.” Her voice is a murmur when she rests her chin on his shoulder, locks of raven silk draping over it. The fondness of their gazes meet as noses bump. Grey eyes crinkle prettily and her thumb is at the apple of his cheek, coming away with traces of flour.

Lips part.

And she’s kissing him.

The touch is like that of petals as one takes in it’s scent; light and much more gentle on his skin. So ethereal, her kiss, that he has to close this space, indulge in the shape of her mouth as it melds to his. They are only feet away from the oven, but their bodies begin to blaze from the mingled passion of two, and the consistent avidity of one.

He partially undoes her shirt, just enough for his hand to press into her breast, hard enough to make her gasp. She plays evenly, brushing and spreading her fingers below his navel.

His body jolts, the smack of their mouths audible.

“Fuck your hands are cold,” he grits, pulling them away.

Mikasa grins, her nose sliding along his jaw.

“And you thought your hands were warm?” She grasps them in hers, balancing on her toes to kiss the corner his frown, his cheek, beneath his ear, lower. Each one a little more prolonged than the last.

There’s something like payback to her ministrations. He feels it in the way she bites his neck; quick nips that pinch between the suckle of her lips and heated laves of her tongue. It’s exciting to have her behave this way. It’s almost as if he’s being chastened by her.

With his grip tight on her shoulders, he twists them around, holding her to the wall behind.

“They are now,” he mutters, parting her thighs with his knee. It moves, sawing back and forth, back - then suddenly forth and she gulps, the crown of her head meeting stone.

“The dinner is - we should stop -”

He lifts her, gripping her ass the way she likes, burying his face just above her clavicle.

“The dinner,” a peck, “can wait.”

Hands start squeezing and she slaps his bicep, flustered by her moan.

“Someone will see…!” She’s pulling tufts of brown warningly and he sets her down, leading them quickly out of the kitchen.

“They won’t.”

 

They almost do.

Both of them hadn’t made it all the way to her room before he started fooling around again. He’s restlessly eager, so much that he doesn’t register Erwin and Levi coming near the corridor where her skirt is bunched between their hips. She has to shove him inside a nearby closet, put a hand over his mouth to stifle his protests. It’s such a small space, her confining hold making him squirm like a toddler.

The voices of their superiors fade and her arm drops, allowing him air he needed the second he was shoved in here. He wants to chide her for nearly suffocating him but she moves closer, puts her mouth as close to his ear as she can reach.

Breathes.

“You’re going to get us caught.”

Rebuttals lie readily on his tongue but goosebumps prickle his skin instead, her whisper tickling his ear.

“…What.”

He laughs more, rubbing his ear on his shoulder.

“That tickles.”

She scoffs lightly, cupping his cheek, then his fingers.

“You’re so childish, Eren.”

He let’s her lead this time, revels in the thrill of secrecy as they scurry through the halls, hiding from friends and unsuspecting comrades alike. But when he finally pins her against his door, he finds that there is nothing but pure ardor driving the pace of his movements. He’s suddenly so patient, very willing to lengthen the time he has to be with her, against her,  _inside_  her.

His head spins when she says his name needily, blood pulsating when her bra dangles on a lone wrist as she loosens his belt. Both of their hands fumble with the lock until she beats him to it, successfully providing them much needed privacy. Clothes continue falling to the floorboards like the leaves outside, one by one by one until they are both left almost completely barren. They aren’t as clumsy this time moving over to his mattress. Before, he could barely restrain his desire, nearly tripping them both over with his feet. Perhaps the only reason they aren’t stumbling this time is because it’s her who guides, pushing him to lay on his back.

Even though the room is nearly drowned in darkness, her eyes manage to catch the little light that seeps through, revealing a glint that only furthers his want. Sighs cool where her mouth trails, hands mindlessly pulling on her hair and she on his boxers. Abdominals stiffen, relax then contract beneath her mouth and while he doesn’t particularly  _mind_  where this is going, it’s only right that he tends to her. Mikasa had a lot on her plate this week, and by the end of it, he could tell that he wasn’t the only one who was left drained.

The warmth of her breath radiates, reaching him delightfully and he pauses her there, panting.

“Wait…”

He beckons her to sit up with him, pulling her closer slowly until there is hardly any distance between and grips. She doesn’t question anything as they switch, her head falling quietly into the pillow beneath them. Hands touch his slacked jaw and he presses a kiss to one wrist, pecking up her palm before closing his lips over two of her fingers. There’s a faint taste of cinnamon lingering on them and he hums, watching her through half lidded eyes. She inhales shakily, regarding his motions with reddened cheeks. She becomes mesmerized, so much so that she doesn’t see his other hand journey down until she moans, squeezing his hand between her thighs. She’s still looking at him as he touches her, gasping and gnawing on her lip. The cloth there gradually dampens, and he drags his tongue along the side of her throat, continuously teasing her with light touches. He speaks lowly in her ear, filling it with words that are borderline lurid. When he thinks it’s enough he stops, her whines replacing harsh breaths. His lips move from the valley of her chest to her belly leisurely, thumbs rolling over perk areolas.  

“Eren-”

“Shh.”

When his nose brushes her hip, he goes to spread her legs, feeling them quake as he removes the last array of clothing.

“You don’t have-”

“Mikasa.” She blinks. He puts a finger to his mouth.

Her tremble only worsens as he props her legs on his shoulders, leaving him unsure if this is really okay. He’s never done this before, and he can tell she’s uncomfortable.

“Do you want me to?”

He waits patiently for her to answer, rubbing her thigh as he tries to decipher her expression. Her brows furrow some, eyes casting off to the side and she answers, blushing.

“I.. I do. I’m just -  _nervous_  -”

“I don’t want you to think that you have to-”

“No… it’s not that. It’s okay… really. I’m okay.

She catches his gaze, reassuringly.

“It’s okay.”

He nods and she settles back down into the mattress. Though she tenses a little when he bites the inside of her thigh softly, she becomes encouraging, raising her hips to him.

And then she’s writhing.

The heels of her feet push into his shoulder blades as her limbs twitch with his tongue, forcing him to hold her down by the hip. He slows to help her relax, but her nails rake his scalp, begging him to keep going. Every swipe then after throws her deeper and deeper, threads of muscle winding tighter and tighter, sentences crumbling to tearless sobs. The ache within grows rapidly as she’s moans his name in fragments, pleading as she fights for air. He groans against her, lapping and teething and she cries out, clawing harshly at the mattress. He measures out with a final buss down her leg, finishing at her knee as he unhooks one, doing the same with the other. He allows her the time to catch some air, rubbing over the finger marks on her hips.

“How are you feeling…?

Grey eyes stay transfixed at the ceiling, chest rising and falling steadily.

“…”

“…” He wipes his mouth, starting to feel a little awkward. “Um-”

“Wow,” she says, releasing the sheets from her grip. “That was… like… wow.” Her mouth keeps a small  _o_  shape and he titters incidentally, earning a questioning look from her. The absolute wonderment in her tone is childlike, even though their activities are beyond such a light term.

“I’m sorry,” he manages, twirling tendrils of ebony. “You’re just so cute.”

The whites of her teeth shine faintly under the curtain of night, her head lulling onto his arm. He holds his breath then, in awe of she makes vulnerability into something so beautifully and genuine. It’s refreshing to witness her like this, caught deeply in a silent euphoria.

His fingers only mean to savor the plush texture of her waist, but instead he wiggles them, drawing out bells and wisps of laughter. It becomes a war between them and soon, they are swinging pillows at one another, fighting for power. He pauses with his arms raised and she does too, watching him intently. He grins wickedly before feigning a hit with a small jerk of his hands, dropping his pillow to snatch hers away mid-swing. Their weapons fall over the side of the bed as he climbs over and restrains her, wrists pressed adjacent to her shoulders.

“I win,” he says, pressing his lips to hers.

His dominant hold on her immediately dissolves into something more romantic as he twines their fingers, something more compassionate as his body covers hers.

Not much time passes before he feels her pulling on his boxers again, helping him kick and leave them to join the piles strewn about the floor. She tells him she loves him, whispers how hard and  _hot_  he is against her and he growls, flipping her to lay on her stomach.

He leaves a row of marks on her back, nudging his hand back between her legs to feel how soft and ready she is for him. She stutters her consent and he guides himself into her, muffling his moan into her shoulder blade. He has to cover her mouth as he grinds in and out of her long and so easily, her delicious sounds muffled for only him to hear. Her nails are bunching and sinking into the sheets again, neck and back arching into a perfect curve. The skin there collects and glistens with the drops of sweat falling from him, their temperature increasing with blinding pleasure. It’s his turn then to moan into her ear, tell her how she’s such a good girl, how tight she is and it’s too much, she comes with a jerk of her limbs, her whimpers slipping between his fingers. He falls over the edge with her, finishing inside with a grunt, fractured words tangled in her hair.  

They are slow to catch their breath, but quick to settle into an embrace, bodies cooling evenly.

He rests his cheek on her breast bone, listening to her racing heart calm into a rich, delicate thrum.

“You’re amazing, Mikasa.” She holds him a little tighter at that, sweeping back his matted bangs to kiss his forehead. It’s a little funny to think that moments ago she was practically  _drowning_  in him, struggling to verbally express her love for him. But those three words always fill the cracks in his heart, soothe the aches that never completely went away.

“I love you too,” he says.

He feels her shiver, this time for a completely different reason, and he sits up the retrieve the coiled blanket at the bottom of the bed. Something in the air brings him to a halt, nose wrinkling. He inhales, sniffs audibly.

Eyes widen.

“Mikasa!” he hisses, shaking her. She’s beside him promptly, disheveled and looking to him worriedly, before finally realizing the reason behind his panic.

“Something’s burning.”


	17. Incapable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I need pinning!Eren   
> And because I have too much time on my hands.

It was a decision made months ago. They swapped passionate kisses for friendly, awkward hugs and had agreed to maintain their relationship only for the sake of their closest friends. But even Connie knew better than to say her name the first month following their break up. Mikasa swears she's alright. He knows because Ymir had told him so. She, of course, called him a wuss for not asking Mikasa himself, but that's just - not a good idea. The idea, of him and her together, is virtually impossible at this point. He supposes they are just too different from one another. Guesses that opposites can only attract for so long. 

“Are you okay?” 

This voice - it isn't familiar in the slightest. It comes from a girl he hardly met an hour before, when he had warded off a piece of scum who couldn't understand the simple definition of ‘no.’ He didn't mean anything by it. He was only trying to help but she was more than flattered. With gratitude expressed and names exchanged, he finds himself here, sitting rather intimately with a very pretty woman. He had politely refused her offer to buy him a drink at first, but she ignored him and one became two, three eventually becoming four. He’s been around alcohol long enough to know that he is the flirty, more affectionate kind of drunk, which is why Mikasa had never allowed herself to drink with him publicly. But she isn't here to take away the small glass, isn't with him at all for that matter and his hand is pressing into another woman’s thigh, twirling and caressing someone else's hair. And it had been thrilling, for both of them up until she had begun purring vulgarities in his ear, painting an image in his mind that felt...  _ wrong _ . He's not seeing anyone, but the mere thought makes him sick with the sin of adultery so he stops, tearing his hands from her. 

“Er-”  _ hic _ , “Eren?”

She's still watching him, waiting for an answer as she closes in on him, flipping her hair to one side. She puts his hand back on her thigh, encouraging, leaning forward to show more cleavage but  _ he can't _ . 

“I can’t,” he whispers, pulling back once more.

Those hands shouldn't be gripping him like that. Because if they do, it will turn him into the kind of man he never wanted to be. A player, a bachelor constantly seeking opportunity, a  _ fuckboy _ , as Ymir had so kindly put it for him. There has only ever been one woman in his life. One worth a gazillion times more than a night of alcohol driven pleasure. He made his own decision  _ years _ before he and Mikasa separated. This woman - she will tarnish that promise if he lets her. So yes, but no. He cannot.

She giggles, girlish and annoying, further upsetting him because nothing is funny. “What did you say, Eren?” 

“I'm in love with someone else,” he admits harshly, wiping the smile clean from her glossy lips.  He places her hands back into her lap, creates a distance that hardly alleviates his shame. 

“I can't be here with you.” His feet reach the floor before she can talk, and he turns back on his way out, feeling pangs of guilt from the hurt and confusion on her face. This isn't her fault. But he has to leave. “I'm… I'm sorry.”

He curses as he stumbles through groups, seeking for Reiner and a way out. It's only minutes later when he bumps into a tall woman that he recalls what happened to his bulky friend.  _ That's right _ . Reiner had left some time ago with a lanky blonde wrapped around his arm, throwing him a knowing wink. His only ride had left and he did nothing because he actually had the intention of going home with that girl. It leaves him feeling incredulously foolish, even more repulsed. 

The names splayed across the screen of his phone blur and twist into the oddest shapes when he tries to read and decipher them, causing unneeded frustration. It would seem that numbers are his only friend at the moment, so he arranges them in the order that comes to mind first, pushing his way out what looks like the entrance. 

He paces a bit, changing direction with each ring of the dial until he accidentally collides into a dumpster. There's a hiss from him and an answer from her. 

“Mikasa?”

“ _ E-Eren. _ ” It's  _ amazing _ , how the softness of her voice immediately settles the uneasiness sloshing inside his belly. She sounds timid but groggy, her yawn reaching him from miles away. 

“ _ Hi. _ ” He wants to laugh and cry because she  _ still _ has his number, or maybe even remembered it. That's how close they were, he realizes, sullen. He's aware they are not together, he is. Painfully so. But he feels like he almost cheated on her, the notion bringing hot tears to his eyes and he chokes up, aching with immense guilt for ever wanting someone other than her. 

“ _ Eren? Is something wrong? _ ”

“No,” he cries, “yes - I mean - ugh -” His forehead leans against the brick of the building. He must look utterly pathetic. He definitely sounds like it. “Can you - um - get me? 

There's prolonged silence on her end until he hears some static, or ruffling, he can't tell. 

“ _ Sure… uh. Where are you? _ ”  

“Outside of Riley's,” he answers, cringing. Will she be mad that he went drinking? 

“ _ The bar? _ ” What if she figures out what he had been up to?

“... Yeah.” 

Please don't be mad. 

He hears the rattle of her keys, and his heart races.

“ _ Okay, I’m coming. Don't move from there. _ ” Relief floods his veins, making him feel lighter, if only a little. 

 

He leans against the trash, for how long, he's not sure. He hadn't been that emotional in a very long while. Not even when she told him it was over. Hostility must’ve consumed him entirely, but now he can physically feel it sizzle away into nothing but longing and regret. Perhaps it was only a matter of time before he would crumble. She always had that effect on him, in both a positive and negative way. They drove each other nuts, but back then he would do anything for her, and she for him. Could she still feel that way, like he does?

He laughs quietly at himself, wiping away oncoming tears. The alcohol was supposed to take away the pain, not provoke it.

Every passing car perks his ears as he waits for her, each more disappointing than the last. He's so anxious to see Mikasa. That was the most they've spoken in weeks. And it wasn't just the usual small talk this time. And he's going to see her. Twice in one day. He wants to feel happy, but he's more nervous than ever. 

His chest contracts a bit when tires roll along the pavement towards him and he stands up straight, part walking part staggering over to the passenger's side.

“I thought you were in front.”

“I was in front,” he says shutting the door, feeling her eyes on him. It's kind of scary. 

“No, you and I are in the alley. There's nothing but dumpsters and crap back here.” 

Oh. 

“Oh. Sorry.” He’s so very sorry because his alcohol-induced thoughts convince that she means him, that he's back here because he's trash and crap.

“For what?” His fingers curl over his knees and he sniffles, tears distorting his vision as he looks at her. “Eren…” she breathes, worried. “Why are you crying?”

His tears hit the leather of her seats like raindrops, just audible for both of them to hear. 

“Because of the way I acted,” he whimpers, “because I'm trash and crap.” 

“N… No I didn't mean that  _ you're _ -” 

“I am though, Mikasa. I am. I'm sorry for never listening to you and putting my job first. For never chasing you after you left. For not buying you bouquets and chocolates and apologizing the way I should, or loving you the way I should. For drinking and almost touching another woman.”

He's convulsing, hiccups fracturing his sentences.

“For calling you at - a-at” his eyes glance at the clock, “one in the morning to - to come get me because... I'm drunk and can't take care of my - myself.”

He can't look at her anymore.

“For being a stupid boy when I - I should have been a man and cleaned up the mess I made, owned up to it at the very least. For needing liquor and too much time to realize that I'm still in love with yo - you, Mikasa. You left your house - in pajamas for  _ me _ , and I’m so glad you’re here.” 

He's shaking.

“I love you,” he weeps, “I miss you so much.” He vaguely wonders if she can even understand him through his sobs. 

It hurts. Everything hurts. His head, his throat, the cavity in his chest. It keeps aching.

“I'm sorry, Mikasa. Forgive me.” 

He's a mess.

His cries persist, strangled. Quieting. 

  
  


The car sets to park.

Her seat unbuckles.

She's straddling him. 

Then kissing him. Each one individually bringing him back to a more sober, less clouded state.

In a three minute time frame his night completely shifted, these moments flawed but perfect, bitter but sweet. His hands twitch one moment and in the next, he's pressing them desperately into her waist, along the adorable cat patterns on her legs, into her hair. The pads of her thumbs collect the stream of tears that flow harder with her solace, murmuring words he doesn't deserve. He tells her so and she thinks him silly, proving herself right by wrapping her being around him all over again, smiling into the curve of his shoulder. 

And later, when he's in a bed that he hasn't seen in so long, he’ll make love to her. He’ll lay her down and do it with the compassion of a partner and the promise of a man. 

This. 

It's this that feels so right, feels so safe. 

And a couple weeks later. When she shoves a box containing a positive pregnancy test in his hands, he’ll find himself an emotional wreck again, but this time with comfort from the mother of his first child. 


	18. Butterflies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This stemmed from a random thought I had when I was cleaning of all things lol   
> Enjoy!

While she loves the freedom the maneuvering gear allows, combat is where a majority of her skill lies. Sparing let's her feel more in control, measures the amount of strength and precision she has as it grows. Some days, after they’d finished dodging wooden props, she went off alone, donned in her personal set of training clothes as everyone else called it a day. Her knuckles and shins met the ragged material of the punching bag repeatedly, almost rhythmically while her other comrades dedicated their time to leisure. 

Even though this particular skillset isn't necessary to survive in the Legion, she continues to practice, honing her own techniques between simulations and strategic meetings. Normally when she's free, she exercises on her own, inside a room on the more uninhabited side of base. So, she’s a bit startled when her ears catch the loud creak of the door, the noise prolonged and unexpected. 

She pauses and stands straight, the bandage on her wrist catching droplets from her hairline.

“Is something wrong, Eren?” 

“Ah, no, nothing is wrong. I was wondering where you were.”

He was looking for her? 

“Is there something you that you need?” She grabs at the suspended bag, slowing its wide swing.

He raises a brow at her, shakes his head. “No - No I don't need anything. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh.” She turns away, smooths her fingers over a fragment of peeling tape, “Okay.” 

He closes the door behind him.

“Yeah, I was uh - thinking about what happened a couple weeks ago… with Bertholdt and everything.”

Her heart seizes, larger eyes glued to her hands as the bag stills. He can't mean - 

“Everything was happening so fast, I could barely think. I'm sure it was the same for you too. And after these past few days, I've been thinking about - all of this and I started to realize…” he releases a breath, boots shifting in place.

Her pulse throbs even faster. She tries to listen to him and gather her thoughts as quick as his explanation allows her. There's a fluttering sensation within her stomach that spreads, bringing with it uneasiness.

“I had...  _ a lot  _ of mistakes in my form, along with my counter attacks against Reiner and looking back now, it's - awful.”

Oh. 

Relief begins to flood, the sudden feeling alleviating as it is odd. She chances a look over her shoulder at him, fixing the strings at the hem of her shorts.

“If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have been able to hold him down. I don't think I've been training hard enough… which is why I was looking for you. You’re probably the only one here who still practices with hand-to-hand combat - a lot and - I don't know I was wondering if you could - y’know… help me?” 

She doesn't realize she's staring, completely unaware of how his comfort begins to wane as she does. 

He always got so frustrated when they partners as trainees. Sometimes he’d just walk away during, leaving her on her own. A part of her is still confused as to why, but now that that it's  _ him _ coming to  _ her _ , she doesn't feel the need to question it. She just feels.... happy.

He rubs the back of his neck timidly, “I'm just asking because you were the top of our class and all and it would be weird with anyone else and - hey I understand if you'd rather be by yourself it's not a big deal -”

“Okay.” 

His rambling stops, comically, mouth remaining slightly ajar. “Okay?” 

She nods, readjusting the wraps around her hands, her fingers. His anxious demeanor melts with a relieved sigh and he quickly shrugs off his jacket, thanking her with a grin she hasn't seen in what seems like months. 

 

“Hold your arm up a little more, so that your elbows are leveled with your ribs.”

His arms stretch to fix his sleeves comfortably before eyeing the position of his arms. “Okay,” he pants, “I think I got it… um - how are they, by the way?”

“How are… what?” 

“Your ribs.”

She grabs his forearms lightly, spreading them a little more apart. “They're fine.” 

The pain has significantly dulled, but unfortunately, she still gets intense, spontaneous flares of it. She moves to stand in front of him, mirroring his stance. 

“I'm going to come towards you, and you try your best to stay on your feet. Your opponent’s moves will sometimes unpredictable but with enough practice, you can be prepared for anything. Don't worry so much about getting hits in. Look for opportunities for takedown.”

He leans forward some, clenching his fists. 

“Got it. I'm ready.” 

She eases toward him and he watches her, focused. He deflects her first few jabs, easy, determined and vice versa. They continue this dance of theirs and she notices his efforts as they improve exponentially with each round, movements slowly becoming accustomed to her pattern. She means to throw a kick at him but the angle is too much, the pain forcing her guard down and he seizes the opening like she had instructed, putting her in a hold as they knock into the bag. She ignores the protest of her ribcage and persists, expecting to free herself without issue, but to no avail. She thinks it the pain, or maybe the exhaustion she had prior to this, but the result is the same despite the case. Soon, it becomes a matter of power as they practically wrestle on the floor, the exertion on her arms affecting her breathing and in turn, her chest. Stubborn, she continues without complaints, and he fights his way on top of her unknowingly, pinning her hands adjacent to her head. 

To her surprise, there is hardly a trace of satisfaction in his countenance. He just - looks at her and her him, lungs expanding and constricting abnormally. 

The punching bag swings like a pendulum, syncing with every passing second.  

They blink at one another, as if in wait. The fluttering sensation returns, but she dares to hold his gaze, attempting to be defiant.

She flinches a little when something falls onto her cheek and his eyes flick to the area, lashes falling and rising evenly. 

Gently, he releases his grip on one wrist, making her eyes widen by another fraction when the heat of his palm warms her cheek. Green eyes catch her grey ones as he carefully thumbs away the droplet of sweat, making her heart beat an entirely different, more sporadic rhythm. He keeps his palm there and she finds herself limp, frozen beneath him.

“Are you okay?” 

Honestly, she can barely fathom his actions. He climbs off, helping her sit up and to her dismay, a grimace slips. 

“Mikasa,” he says when she doesn't respond, “Are you hurt?”

She resigns, holding her side. “My ribs… I moved the wrong way for a moment…”

“Do you want to go to the infirmary?” 

“No no, it's was only temporary. The pain I mean. You don't need to worry, I'm fine now.” 

Eren helps her stand in spite of her words, holding her bare biceps from behind.

“I think that's enough for you today. We can practice some other time, Mikasa.” 

She agrees, moving silently towards her things. She vaguely begins to wonder if he enjoyed training with her.

“Are you coming to dinner tonight?” She asks, finally calm.

“Yeah, I could use some food, even if it is crap.” He collects his jacket beside the door, dusting himself off.

“Alright,” she says, facing him. “I'm going to shower before I go. I'll see you later.”  

“See you, thanks again.” 

She moves purposely slow and waits until the door shuts behind him, holds her breath until his footsteps cease entirely before slumping against the wall. 

She holds her belongings close, a soft blush coloring the apples of her cheeks.  She traces the path of his thumb gingerly and this time, she doesn't mind the funny feeling the memory brings.

  
  
  



	19. Bruised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was an anonymous request for Mikasa to be tired of fighting and Eren tyring to comfort her :) This is an alternate universe in canon. Thank you for the kudos, as always, and I hope you enjoy!

“Don’t say that, Mikasa.” 

She swallows the last of her medication, each tablet sliding harshly down her throat. It's awfully bitter, forcing her to cough around the taste. Eren pulls the cup away from her fingers gently, a deep breath pushing past his lips. 

“What happened isn’t your fault.”

Her hand gestures to the small pitcher and he reaches for it, refilling her cup.

The medics say she’s very lucky. Had she stayed pinned beneath the debris any longer, she would have suffocated. But to her, this is anything but lucky. Being the only survivor brings no relief, only uneasiness. Countless  _ what if’ _ s.

Her eyes follow his gaze to her leg, elevated and completely swathed below the knee. The only part of her that was severely injured. Surprising, but inconvenient.

“I know it feels like it is… but all of that is out of our control. You told me that, remember?”  

She gives a feeble nod, grasping the cool glass. “I do.” 

He never truly believed those words himself when his original squad members had died, but… she's beginning to understand why. These thoughts are poisonous, yes. But once they come, it's hard to make them go.

The silence they sit in is empty, void of the tension and raw emotion she had come to know during times like this. It's contemplative, on not just one but both ends. 

Her fingernail scratches lightly at the linen. 

“I want to believe that, but… back then, I  _ was _ in control.” 

He settles the pitcher back into the basin, looking to her. In her peripheral, she can see a crease between his brows.

“We were taking them out, we were winning… but the abnormals. It was like they came out of thin air. If I hadn’t let my guard down in that moment, those people…” She stops, unwilling, or rather  _ unable _ to properly express her remorse. To communicate just how upset she is at herself. The moments after she had been swiped from the rooftop are lost within her memory. She has no clue as to how she got tangled beneath the rubble, but that doesn’t matter. 

“Lives were lost because I got distracted.” 

“Mikasa…” 

“And now, I’m paying the price for my mistake.” 

“Hey -” 

“I can’t even stand. I don't know when I’ll be able to. What will I do if something happens you or Armin before then? The rest of our team?”

“Nothing is going to happen, don't worry -” 

“I _don't_ _want_ to worry anymore, Eren. That's the thing.” She can feel her eyes beginning to well, her frustration growing. He doesn't need this when all he's trying to do is help. “I’m just… tired of seeing people get hurt. Tired of seeing _you_ get hurt. All of this - it’s terrifying.” 

They've had this discussion before, but it had always been the other way around, under different circumstances. She didn’t know how to help him then, and she can tell he’s at a loss for words too. 

His face falls into his hands, fingers rubbing at the corner of his eyes before the greens of them fixate on her. 

“Look -” 

“Eren!” 

He jolts, face twisting sourly for the slightest of seconds before he turns towards the door, clearly trying to maintain a calm countenance.

“Hanji-san, now isn't a good time.”

Their superior pauses at his tone, looking to her just as she turns her attention to her hands, picking at their dressings. Subtly, she blinks away the moisture, willing for her eyes to dry.

“Is everything alright?” 

She finds her voice, speaking up when his silence drags a moment too long. 

“Yes, I’m just feeling a little off today. You needed Eren?” 

Hanji adjusts her glasses, unconvinced but doesn't prod any further, thankfully. 

“Yeah…” Hanji places her hand against her hip, tilting her head at Eren. 

“I came to find you because Levi and I have to meet with the higher-ups soon. Could you come help Jean and the rest unload the wagons outback?” 

“Ah, yeah,” He nods his head, averting his eyes. “Yeah, I'll help.” 

Hanji grins. “Thanks. And Mikasa? I hope your doing better.” 

“Thank you, Hanji-san.” She wonders how far Hanji can see past her smile. 

The scientist pats her hand on the door frame twice before she's gone, bringing both of them to a collective sigh. 

She moves to put aside her cup, suddenly hissing when her arm stretches out too far. Eren immediately takes the drink from her, eyeing the bruised limb as she nurses it. 

“You need to put the sling back on.” 

“It's fine. I'm sure it's almost done healing.” 

He scoffs incredulously at that, sarcastically agreeing with her while plucking his jacket from the foot of the bed. The chair grinds harshly against the floor as he stands.

“I'll come back later. Rest, Mikasa.” He juts a finger at her. “I mean it.” 

She lays on her good side, adjusting the blanket Sasha brought her. “I will.” 

The door clicks behind him and she curls her knees carefully towards her chest. Eventually, the drugs in her system take effect, slowly easing her out of consciousness and into a dreamless sleep. 

 

His calls are initially distant, like a hallucination of sorts. But the delicate shake of her shoulder, the warmth of his palm is all too real for it to be a dream. Her muscles, stiff and tired, stretch before she turns to him. 

“Eren,” she yawns, her scarf in his hand the first thing to catch her eye. “Is something going on?” 

There's a single stream of light seeping from the crack of the door, just enough for her to make out his figure. He’s changed out of uniform, dressed in his casual clothes. 

“Can you come with me?” He’s half murmuring, half whispering. It must be late.

Her gaze bounces around the room, becoming one of confusion as it settles on him.

“Where?” 

“I'll show you.” His hands fidget at his sides. That is, if you want to.” 

“I… I can't walk. How will I…? 

His mouth morphs into an ‘o,’ twisting into odd shapes before breathing a small  _ ah _ . Eren helps her sit upright, carefully bending both legs over the edge of the mattress. He slips her shoes and sweater on patiently, cautious of any pressure until he finishes, looping the scarf around her neck. Despite her drowsiness, she blushes at his proximity, daring herself to meet his eyes. They flicker from her face to her neck, focused as he adjusts the material just beneath her chin. He stands at his full height, turning around completely. 

Watching him kneel to her level, she catches on quick, placing her hands on his shoulders. The callous of his fingers slide over her calves, minding the bandaged leg as he draws both of them to his sides. He stands, strong and tall, forearms supporting her thighs comfortably. 

“Are you alright? Your arm -” 

“‘S alright,” she says, words almost a mumble. “I'm alright.” 

 

It's been awhile since she’s gotten fresh air. Everything is crisp; the temperature, the moon, the scent of pines. Much preferable to the stuffy corner she’s been in for the past week. Her cheek rests at the curve of his neck, brown strands occasionally tickling her nose. The pace he sets is rhythmic, the music of the night hushed and strangely reassuring. She begins to doze, forgetting her surroundings until he speaks, nudging her back into wakefulness. 

“I thought about what you said earlier… y’know, about being tired of -  _ everything _ .” 

She tightens her arms a bit, letting him know she’s listening. 

“Everyone deals with stress differently. But you - I think it's hard for you to do anything  _ but  _ think and stress. And worry. You need another… outlet I guess, other than training. Especially now with…” his thumb brushes over the cotton layered on her shin, throat clearing. “Yeah.” 

“I see.” Looking at her leg, she tries to estimate the amount of time it will take to heal. At least enough to where she can stand. She holds her sigh, steering her eyes away. 

They start moving up a slope and his breathing becomes ragged, her concern and self-consciousness beginning to swell.

“Sorry,” she eventually says, awkward.

“For… for what?” he pants. 

“I'm -  _ heavy _ .” 

Eren clicks his tongue, blaming his exhaustion on his last minute assignment. She can’t help but hold her frown, skeptical. He continues on, promising they’re close. 

 

“Mikasa.” He turns to look at her, the edge of his jaw knocking into her forehead.

Her lids remain closed, a small hum pressed into the nape of his neck.

“We’re here.”

The body of water is - huge, compared to the rivers they’ve waddled across in shiganshina. Pines and hills line each curve, clouds clustering and gliding over. It's - 

“Beautiful.” 

The moonlight dances on the water’s surface, glistening like she’s never seen it before. 

“It’s pretty amazing, isn't it.” 

After a couple of sharp gasps and multiple apologies, they find a spot on the earth side by side, observing the sight before them. It's peaceful, compared to the busy environment of base, compared to the unsettling terrain outside of Rose.

“I… I don't know what to say. Y’know, to convince you that it isn’t your fault. But I know exactly what it feels like - to deal with that.”

He leans back on his palms. 

“When I’m overwhelmed, I come out here. It quiet enough. And there's a lot of room to breathe.”

At this, she begins to understand. She hadn't meant what she said earlier. It was out of guilt and exhaustion, but it provoked him enough to bring her to this place. For him to go to such lengths, just to help her feel better. It reminds her of why she’s here. Of the promise she made to someone important.

“Yes…there is. I'm really glad you brought me here, Eren.”

He tugs a lock of her hair, playfully, acknowledgments carried away with the midnight breeze. 

His yawn is contagious, fatigue building as their conversation ceases. She doesn’t know she's nodding off again until her temple falls onto his shoulder, a bit hard. She jerks and apologizes, moving to create some distance. 

“It’s okay, Mikasa. I'll wake you up when I’m ready to go.” With a pull of her cardigan, she’s back at his side, resting against his bicep. She isn’t sure how much time has passed, but when he thinks she’s sleeping, he wraps a meek arm around her. 

 


	20. Lazy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drabble :) Thank you so much to those who left comments/kudos! It means a ton <3

Love is something she has unconsciously paid attention to. As she fills her basket with fruits, she hears it; the conjoined laughter between a man and a woman, both practically floating from stand to stand. When she turns to the pair, she sees it; the adoration, the hands on cheeks and lips on lips. 

It's the twining of fingers between a mother and her child, a wife’s wrinkled smile as her husband kisses her temple, tittering when his mouth sputters out some grey strands. There’s laughter, always. She isn’t aware she’s staring until their eyes meet, brightness meeting darkness and she moves, casually blending within the crowd. The feelings she would get in those moments wasn't longing as much as it was curiosity. 

Once in a while, she’d turn back around, vaguely wondering: Just what is it like to be in love? 

Before joining the Legion, she would listen the hushed voices traveling to each bunk, every other girl describing just what they felt it was. Exhilarating. Intense. Breathtaking. But after a couple years with Eren, she thinks her favorite is how lazy it can be. How the rich thrum of his heart slows hers, the careful weight of his chest on hers unusually comforting and warm. It's like lying beneath the sun in the afternoon, the heat of it gentle on her skin, rays blinding in the best of ways.

His hands smooth over knobs of bone, arranging them to fit around his body as he kisses the base of her throat, sighing into its hollow. 

“We should get dressed, Mikasa.” 

She blinks slowly up at him, mouth springing into a smile as she shakes her head. It’s too comfortable, too difficult to part from this.

“No?”

Her arms encircle his torso, keeping him there.

“No.” 

He pokes at her belly. “Since when are you lazy?” 

His gesture begins a chain of retaliation, calloused fingers wiggling at her ribs and hers pressing into the muscle just above his hips.

Gasps and fits of laughter begin to occupy the space between, and she knows it's real.


	21. Frayed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A request from anonymous for Eren and Mikasa to be faced with a situation where one of them has to be sacrificed. The angst is real lol. Again, thanks a whole banana bunch to those who read my stories and leave comments/kudos! Enjoy :)

Their arguments, he discovers, are poorly timed. Whether it’s before evaluations or before battles, both of them have always had something to disagree on. But no matter how petty or critical the dispute, Eren never thought they’d ever have to fight over which one should live and which one should stay behind to die.

“You  _ knew  _ what we were sent here for.” Her gaze doesn’t falter in its intensity. 

“This was not a part of the plan, Eren.” 

“No, it wasn't. None of this was. But this is the only way to finish what we came here to do.”

She shakes her head, beginning to pace. “There has to be another way. You always say that. We’ve - there's  _ always _ been another way.” 

“Mikasa, I… I don’t know if there's one this time.”

“We’ll think of something.”

“No.”

“We just have to rethink all of this and - and -”

“Mikasa!” he snaps, gripping her wrist as she steps past him. She lowers her head, purposely veiling her face behind a curtain of raven hair. His grip slackens in regret, fingers tugging at her sleeve. They stand in front of one another, eyes staring down in opposite directions. He doesn’t release his hold.

“There isn’t much time. And - we both know  _ I  _ don’t have much time -”

“I know,” she says curtly, hollow. Her lids fall shut, wincing as if to say  _ please stop reminding me _ . 

“Mikasa,” he tugs at her arm again, the gesture so surprisingly gentle in comparison to the tone they had taken with one another moments earlier. Her pained eyes settle on the ties of his shirt, breaths syncing with the rise and fall of his chest. “You have to go back.” 

She sucks in a breath, exhales soft words. “I can’t.” 

“ _ Please _ ,” he says, “I don’t want it to end for you like this. It’s not fair to you.” 

“No, what isn’t fair is you asking me to leave you to die.” 

“Look, I know that it’s -”

“You don’t, Eren. You don’t know. I don't think you understand just what you’re asking of me.” 

He sighs, rubbing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. He shifts to face the moon behind him, putting space in between them. The wind picks up, leaves rustle and he forces himself to think through the frustration. It feels as if it doesn't matter what they do or decide; someone will inevitably get hurt. His anxiety begins to heighten, clustering his thoughts until it singles into a piercing, torturous noise that prods at his mind.

There's a shuffle of boots behind him, a sigh almost as heavy as the weight on his chest.

“If it was me,” she starts, slowly. Knowing exactly what she’s about to ask, he turns to her with the intention to interrupt, only to find himself speechless at her tears. 

“If it was me,” she repeats, more firmly. “Would you go?” 

His lungs suddenly burn with each intake of air, and he sees the furrow of her brows become tighter at his silence.

He lets out a defeated breath, because  _ of course _ he wouldn't leave her, and saying so is him taking the risk of losing her. She sniffles, pale knuckles reaching to wipe at her cheeks. 

“I can’t leave and go on, knowing that I could’ve stayed and done something different. I wouldn’t want to.” Her eyes search for his, until she decisively moves to stand face to face, strides nearly defiant. 

“I'm not leaving,” she states. He can see the determination shining through the moisture  _ still  _ threatening to spill, the slight quiver of her mouth despite the finality in her tone. Eren’s palms suddenly press into the sides of her face, thumbs smoothing over the swelled skin beneath her eyes. 

“You always have to win, don’t you?” Her lips quirk upwards, tears of desperation replaced with ones of mirth at his resignation. Her fingers wrap around his wrists. 

“Always.” 

They’re too raw with emotion to think up anything thorough in logic, but it’s these moments that remind him of everything they’ve overcome. They have, and perhaps will continually be in situations that equal in hopelessness. It’s her strength and his will that have kept them here this long, and it’s the arguments that admonish their very purpose to protect each other. It's bittersweet; no matter how hard they try, it’s impossible to get rid of one another.  

 


	22. Soft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A request from anonymous for a fic based off the live action movie! This takes place after the final events in the film:) Thank you SO SO SO SO much to those leaving kudos! <333

 

 

There's a softness to him. She feels it in the way his fingers smooth over the swollen crescents beneath her eyes when she's restless, hears it in his laughter when no one else is around. Under his rough exterior, he is rich with dreams and smiles and a particular warmth that’s rare in a world like theirs. She had forgotten it in their years apart, willed herself to. Because somehow she knew - and perhaps he might’ve too - that eventually, her grudges would dissolve, and she’d fall foolishly for him all over again.

Rebuilding their relationship was gradual and delicate, like piecing together fragments of glass. Both of them knew it wouldn’t be like before, but she finds that now is much more fulfilling than before could’ve ever been. Because being with him brings a fuzziness to her senses, and smiling and talking becomes natural, and even more surreal. And though he's never directly asked her to be his, she thinks of it more as a silent agreement communicated through the intensity of their kisses, from the fondness of their eyes.

She used to dream about him like this, and sometimes she wonders if he ever did the same. It occurs to her during moments like these, when they have only the stars and company of each other at the end of a taxing day.

Eren runs his thumb over the ridges of her fingers as she rests in his arms, bundles of firewood abandoned on the other side of the trunk they used to chase each other around in their youth. She adjusts herself, turning her head until her ear is pressed against his chest. Her position is rather stiff and uncomfortable, but the lull of his heart keeps her there, her breaths syncing with its gentle thrum.

“Are you awake?”

The question is a murmur that grazes her ear, the heat of it causing goosebumps to prickle her arms.

“Yes,” she answers, her volume matching his.

“I was thinking… about everything,” he pauses, clearing his throat. “About - us.”

She can feel his heart beating faster against her cheek. This conversation could go down a thousand paths, and suddenly her pulse picks up its pace.

“Remember when we talked about going outside…? The walls?

She hums, slowly, as she tries to calm her anxious mind.

“I do.”

“We’ve talked about it right before - y’know…” She catches his reference and tries to suppress her uneasiness about the fall, and all it encompassed. “How do you feel about it now?”

Dread settles inside her stomach. She blinks up, weaving her gaze between the branches to stare up at the moon, taking note of its height.

“It’s getting late.”

His arms slacken almost dramatically in their embrace and she takes the opportunity to stand, dusting her skirt as she reaches for their bundles. She anticipates the gruffness that usually accompanies his impatience, but he does or says nothing of the sort, mimicking her actions. She truly doesn’t know how to answer the question, because the sudden topic of them and leaving the walls implicates his plans, or rather a decision that will affect them for better or worse.

“I… I still feel the same way as I did then. And now that it's possible…” He keeps his eyes down, words paced with caution. She sets down her load, dejected.

“... you want to go and see the world for yourself,” she finishes for him, quietly.

“No,” he says, the word blurted with a speed that has him stuttering before he vehemently collects his thoughts. “What I wanted - or what I hoped, really... was for you to come with me.”

Her heart lifts and feels heavy inside her chest all at once. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t given it thought initially, but while it brings about curiosity, uncertainty overtakes it. She’s hardly known life as anything other than domestic, besides the few years she spent wearing a uniform with a scowl on her face. Change never brought anything good for her, and she doesn’t want to ruin what they’ve worked so hard to fix.

Eren approaches her, taking her hands in his larger ones. “You don’t have to make a decision now, Mikasa. After everything, I’d understand if you didn’t want to. I haven’t always been the best, but I want to try.”

He smiles kindly at her and her eyes sting at his sincerity.

“Whatever you want, I want.” He’s never expressed something like this to her, especially with such conviction and patience and she feels incredibly full when she presses her mouth to his, whispering agreements that have him lifting her by the thighs and spinning her with a giddiness that is contagious.


	23. Onlook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I received an anonymous request for sleepy!Eren to kiss Mikasa unconsciously in front of squad levi 2.0! This takes place after Hanji's experiments in chapter 50 something, from Armin's POV! :) Thank you guys very much for the comments/kudos <333333

“How’s Eren?”

“He’d be fine if Hanji-san could control herself.”

He doesn’t miss the violent manner her chopping begins to take.

“Mikasa… She apologized already. She’s just… eccentric when it comes to her research.”

She sets down the knife and sighs, gathering potato peels into her hands.

“Eren is fine. His fever went down.” As she tosses the peels, he notes the slight swell of skin beneath her eyes.

“You were there all night, weren’t you?”

“Not all night,” she half yawns and he smiles, suppressing the urge to shake his head. “Just until his temperature was normal.”

He hums, twining his hands behind his back. “I see.”

He peeks a little over her shoulder, watching her and Historia cook for a few moments longer. “Is there anything I could do to help?”

“Ah… could you start setting the table? I’m almost done.”

“Of course.”

Sasha and Jean come into the kitchen soon after and help him, Jean more than Sasha as the latter continuously hovers behind his childhood friend.

“It smells great, Mikasa.”

“Thank you, Jean.”

“Especially the stew,” Sasha adds, plate ready in her hands. “Who taught you how to make it?”

Mikasa’s hand reaches for the ends of her scarf, eyes softening.

“Auntie… well I mean, Eren’s mom. She showed me how to make dishes like this.”

“Where is Eren by the way?”

“Still out cold,” Historia answers.

“Still?”

“Guys,” he interrupts, more for Mikasa’s sake than his own. “Let’s just sit down and eat. Hanji-san and Captain Levi might make it back today. We have things to do.” His reminder only leaves Jean and Sasha complaining about the work Levi has tasked all of them with, which somehow leads to both parties bickering about who does more around the cabin. Historia and him silently slip into their seats, spectating the petty argument until the sudden shift in Mikasa’s tone catches his attention.

“E-Eren.”

Each gaze fixates in their direction, and immediately he feels something off about Eren; his lack of regard for everyone else, his countenance. 

“Eren!” Sasha purposely exclaims over Jean’s heated rebuttal. “How are you feel...”

The question dies on her tongue. All of their jaws hang open as Eren pulls away from Mikasa, the soft smack of their mouths audible.

“Good morning, Mikasa.”

He is the first to remember himself, looking to Eren and Mikasa for a much needed explanation and is surprised when he receives nothing of the sort. The juice from the ladle drips steadily onto the floor as Mikasa remains frozen in place, whereas Eren takes a seat almost casually, his eyes void of light and perhaps focus for him to do such a thing. He never knew his friend was even  _capable_. Connie makes himself present in the midst of their shock, calling out a second time.

“... Did I miss something…? Did Sasha do something?”

While Historia exhibits slight confusion, she does not seem the least bit surprised. Jean and Sasha share an expression all their own as Connie continues to question the group. Eren’s eyes remain heavy one minute, and the next they are alight with irritation, creased with perplexity as Jean practically lunges over the table to grab at his shirt.

This is how Captain Levi finds all of them; Mikasa and Connie tearing the two boys off each other, Sasha screaming at all of them to calm down, and Historia serving herself stew, dodging all the fists and flailing limbs. He is the only one their leader turns to, and he dreads the explanation he inevitably has to give.


	24. Foolish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A request from anonymous for an AU where there is no titans/war. Mikasa's parents are still gone and she is taken in by the Jaegers. When they're seventeen, Eren takes on a job that will take him away from home and he promises Mikasa to make enough to marry her someday (<333). Thank you so much for the request!! I love it :3 Thank you so so so so much for the kudos/comments!

Nothing is, or ever was, meant to last. Not the bank she walks along, the garden her and Auntie have tended to for years, or the tears blotching her skin. She knows this, _has_ known it. So she can't help but feel foolish for wishing her relationship with Eren could ever defy this merciless law of nature.

Maybe it was the agreement they'd made way back then; their promise of forever. Young (too young, she thinks) and naive, they had twined their pinkies and laughed at the idea of ever being apart. And now, she forces herself to stare ahead, purposely ignoring the memories that the sun had seared into this trail. Just around the slight bend in the road is their home and she begins to drag her feet, childishly, because she doesn’t doubt that he’s there.

Or maybe, he isn’t.

She knew he’d be gone any day now, and even though she’s upset with him, deep down she selfishly hopes that he looks for her before then. The thought of him leaving without saying goodbye hurts and hollows her chest, despite the possibility being entirely her fault for ignoring him. Balancing her basket in one arm, she uses her free one to gently wipe at her face, futilely attempting to erase hours worth of tears.

She steps wearily into the house, deciding that she doesn’t care if he’s home or not because it doesn’t change the fact that he’s leaving her - and Auntie - behind.

“Mikasa?”

She doesn’t turn around, knowing that Carla will surely notice just how much of an emotional mess she is.

“Yes?”

“Oh good, you’re home,” she sighs, the floorboards creaking beneath her feet. “I know you’re probably very tired, but could you go to the stable? I wasn’t able to finish cleaning up. I’m sorry, I promise it isn’t a lot.”

She suppresses her agitated sigh. Not because of Carla, but because it’s usually his job to take care of that. Couldn’t he have helped one last time?

“I’ll finish up, it’s alright.”

“Hurry dear, it’s starting to get dark out.”

Her eyes follow the beautiful gradient of the sky as she nears the stable, and it soothes her, prompting a deep yawn. Exerting the last of her energy, she drags the door open, just enough for her body to fit through. Her hands move to tie her hair up, but she pauses, gaping at the boy standing in front of her. He mirrors her expression and their silence lingers, right up until the screech of metal pierces both their ears as she retreats, her hands tugging harshly at the door.

“Mikasa! Mikasa, wait a second!”

She veers from the path, weaving through the tall grass and creating her own shortcut towards the house.

“Please! I know you’re mad but - hey!” He picks up his pace, beginning to sprint towards her until he blocks her path completely. She creates some distance between them, staring at the ground as he balances his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

“Mi - kasa,” he pants, tilting his face to her. “I really… I really need to talk to you.”

She remains defiant in her anger, scowling at the trees when his steps draw nearer. Until suddenly, he yelps, tripping over something hidden within the grass and instinctively, _habitually_ , she moves forward to catch him.

“What did you trip over?” She grunts, lifting him up.

“Nothing,” he admits, dusting off his pants. And then he grins at her. “I just figured you’d catch me, like you always do.”

She feels her cheeks warm, thinks herself stupid because that wasn’t the first time he’s used that tactic on her when she'd refused to talk to him. She falls for it every. Single. Time.

“Mikasa. Can I talk to you?” She looks at him, only when he adds, “Please.”

She feels her eyes soften and he sighs, relieved. In her periphery, she sees movement from inside the house and her eyes shift there, only to see an empty window with the curtains swaying, like someone had just walked away from it. Then, it dawns on her that Carla knew he was here, that she lied about the stables to get her out here.

“I have something for you.”

“Is it something to - _always remember you by_?”

He doesn’t falter at the disdain in her clichéd words, smiles at it actually. It confuses her.

“Something like that.”

He looks at her, opening his mouth to speak, only to close it in a light grimace.

“I uh…” he breathes an awkward laugh and shuffles his feet, like he doesn’t know where to begin. She kind of feels bad. She isn’t good with words either.

He seems to have abandoned his explanation entirely, because he steps even closer with a defeated look, stopping when they are toe to toe. The way he grasps her left hand is sudden and then hesitant, making her limbs stiffen and brow furrow even further at the gesture. She stares down at their hands, captivated by the gentle hold he has on her fingers until he pulls out a silver band from his pocket, one that looks all too familiar.

“Is that…” her words falter, eyes widening as he slides it gingerly onto her ring finger.

“My mom’s? Well - yeah...”

He looks down at the space between them, sheepishly, cupping her fingers before loosely twining them with his own. She is completely struck with awe, her cheeks beginning to redden as she processes his action and the sole, obvious meaning behind it.

“This is really - out of nowhere. But I wanted to make sure I give you this before I leave. To…” he coughs, his own cheeks turning pink. “To tell you how I uh - feel.”

She’s dreamt about this, thought up so many ways it could happen. The logical part of her mind always told her that they'd stay that way, only as one-sided fantasies. And even now, it stills feels like that, as if any moment she could wake up with him long gone. But his hands, large and warm on her sleeves, pull her closer until his mouth is at her hairline, gently reminding her that it's anything but a dream.

She wants to shy away when he moves to look at her, but his face… everything about him in this moment mesmerizes her. She dwells in this; their proximity, the way the sunset makes his eyes glow a rare shade she’s only seen a few times before.

“Please don't cry.”

She puts her hand over her mouth, the ring pressing into her chin as she closes her eyes and shakes her head. He presses a kiss to her brow, and she's happy and excited and so sad because now it’s almost impossible for her to say goodbye. Eren wraps an arm around her shoulders and rocks them side to side, their movements soft and rhythmic.

“One day,” he murmurs. “One day I'll save enough to get you a better ring-”

“ _No_ ,” she interrupts, tightening an arm around his waist. “No, this one is perfect.”

He laughs breathily, nodding his head against her temple as she stares at the band adorning her finger. For Auntie to give her ring to them like this… she can't even begin to describe the feelings that swell inside, the amount of gratitude she has. He rests his chin on top of her head, calling to her after a few moments.

“Mikasa?”

She sniffles as she moves her fingers up his chest, spreading them to feel his racing heart beneath their tips. She hums into his neck and he clears his throat, lowering his mouth to her ear.

“Will you wait for me?”

She turns her head, their cheeks brushing before she kisses the corner of his jaw, the apple of his cheek, and finally his lips as she curls her fingers around his neck. His hands move indecisively, drifting from her wrists to her face, ultimately settling on her hips with his palms pressing their heat into the bone. She swallows at the added touch, parting not for breath, but for words.

“Of course,” she whispers against his mouth, sliding her nose affectionately against his. She speaks a little louder, kissing the corner of his mouth with a little more confidence. “I’ll always wait for you, Eren.”

His tongue swipes over his lips, and she gets a strange urge to bite them.

“Promise?”

She finds his right pinkie and wraps it with her left, both laughing at the nostalgic gesture. Auntie’s ring reflects the last few rays of the sun and their gazes meet, equally bashful and bright. Her pinkie squeezes his and she nods, her eyes welling again at the way his eyes crinkle with mirth and relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Grisha is not in the picture in this AU. For Eren to take on this kind of job, I would think that he needed to do so in order to take care of Mikasa and Carla because his father isn't there. I'll leave those reasons up to your imagination :)


	25. Remedied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A request from tumblr user Jungianca6 for Eren to take care of Mikasa when she's sick :3 Thank you so much my friend!! <3 I hope you like it!   
> I can never say thank you enough to those who leave comments/kudos ;-; It makes me so happy, and I appreciate every single one of you <33

It wasn’t gradual, like the way she thought illnesses came. It happens suddenly, like the swiftness of rain clouds as they bloom and stretch over clear skies; an isolated storm that rages relentlessly, and somehow, without her knowing. Apart from her exhaustion, she remembers feeling completely fine by the time she pulled her sheets to her chin, her eyes finally falling to the lull of frosted winds blowing against her window. She only begins to feel the ache in her body when Sasha wakes her with a cautious shake to her shoulder, saying something like _it’s late morning_ or maybe it's _late, past morning._ She stirs slightly in response, and Sasha’s fingers, cool and soothing, move aside raven bangs to feel her forehead.

Sasha gasps, pressing her entire palm to her skin. She winces as her friend calls out, curling tighter into a ball beneath her sheets until a new hand, smaller but warmer, rests atop her own. It’s Armin, from what she can tell and she wills her eyes to open, lids heavy and lined with crust. The brightness of the room furthers her struggle to properly focus, eyes squinting and watering before more boots shuffle into the room. Unlike Sasha’s bellows, Armin’s voice is gentle, his worry evident.

“Mikasa? What’s wrong? What happened?”

 _I don’t know_ is what she means to say, but instead, a cough rasps from her throat, her body jerking with its force. His hand pats and rubs between her shoulder blades until she finishes choking around dry air, feeling spent as her limbs slacken. Armin pulls away, prompting her eyes to open again, and she’s met with a blue-green gaze that nearly startles her with their proximity. He’s kneeling in front of her with Armin behind him, simply looking, and she stares back, hardly listening to Armin and Jean talk.

With a hand on Eren’s shoulder, Sasha passes him a glass of water and he nods his thanks, adjusting himself next to her on the mattress.

“Mikasa, can you sit up?”

She attempts wordlessly, frowning at the strange tremor her arms take when she pushes up on them. Her head wants to roll right off her neck it seems, making such a straightforward movement into such a lethargic process. His hands, one at her back and the other wrapped around her wrist, aid and steady her as they try again, successful when she finally settles against the headboard. She coughs into her arm, barely hearing Sasha’s comment of her having serious bedhead before Jean elbows her, eliciting a hiss. Armin carefully places the glass of water in her grasp and she downs half of it, slumping back in relief. Finally coming to a (somewhat) conscious level, she gathers her bearings, peeling the sheets off her lap with her free hand. Her legs are like lead when she goes to stand but Eren halts her, blocking her path.

“What are you doing?”

The cup is placed on a desk, and the heels of her palms press into her eyes to wipe away the moisture that continues to build, giving herself a moment to wait out the wave of nausea.

“All of us have things to get done today.” She notes how congested she sounds, discouraged by its coarseness. Clearing her throat, she fights the urge to cough, as if she’s trying to prove a point she knows to be futile.

He shakes his head, lifting her legs back onto the bed. “No, you did this last time,” he pulls her blanket back over her, and she doesn’t resist, a bit stunned by his actions. “You have to stay and rest.”

He stands, jutting his thumb over his shoulder, “ _they_ have things to get done today.”

She tilts her head up at him. “What about you?”

Eren pulls a seat from the desk, situating at her side, “ I’ll be here. Taking care of you.”

Her head feels dizzier at that, and she doesn’t meet his eyes, knowing it’s impossible to fight the color she can feel blossoming on her face.

“Eren’s right, Mikasa! Your temperature is way too high. Even your cheeks are pink.”

She means to glare at Sasha for pointing it out, but is then glad that she had blamed her blush on her condition rather than her embarrassment.

A scoff erupts at the foot of her bed.

“Why do _you_ have to stay here and take care of her?”

“Why do _you_ care?”

“Guys,” Armin interrupts, tentatively moving between the two boys. “Don’t start. We’re wasting time, let’s just go and help the Captain. Connie and Historia are already outside.”

“I’ll make you something later, Mikasa!”

“Get some rest.”

Armin follows the other two out, throwing a smile over his shoulder. “I’ll see you two later.”

There’s something else in his smile that makes her cheeks darken, and she stares down at an empty space on the bed, letting silence ensue between her and Eren.

“I told you not to give me your coat.”

She looks to him for a moment before she breathes out subtly through her nose, leaning back as she recalls the day before, “Yours got all tattered. It’s fine.”

“It isn’t fine. You’re sick.”

“I usually don’t catch these things so easily. If I didn’t, you would’ve gotten ill instead. I'll be better in no time… I  just need a day.” Her stomach rolls and she winces, breathing out. “Maybe two.”

He snorts softly, incredulously, reaching an arm towards her. The backs of his fingers meet her forehead, moving down to her temple and she watches him, unknowingly reveling in his attentiveness.

“I’ll be right back,” he suddenly says, already halfway towards the door. She snaps out of her little reverie by the time he walks out, wanting to bury herself beneath her sheets, a bit flustered. Remembering her friends earlier comment, she smooths down her hair, sighing when she feels the locks bounce wildly back into place. Her hand searches inside the nearest drawer, settling on tying her hair back with one of Sasha’s bands when she can’t find her comb. It’s strange how quickly her arms tire out, but even more frustrating as she continuously takes breaks from gathering what she can of her hair, only for them to fall back into her face.

When she finally gathers an ample amount into the tie, Eren comes back into the room, a bucket in one hand and a small towel in the other.

“It’s getting longer,” he notes, placing the bucket on the ground before dipping the towel inside.

“A little… it's still hard to tie it back.”

He doesn’t add more to the subject, only asking that she lays back down. She complies, closing her eyes when the damp cloth gently presses along her hairline.

“You won’t get in trouble?”

“Trouble?”

“With Captain Levi…”

“Armin told me not to worry about it,” he says, smoothing more of her bangs back and it’s pleasant, the way the air cools her skin when pulls the cloth away. “I trust that he’ll cover for me. And for you.”

She hums, trying to relax under his ministrations but feels her self-consciousness growing with his scrutiny. She wonders if he can see the way her eyes move beneath their lids, as if they’re following the movement of his hand, or if he can feel just how rigid she is. His fingers, gentle and just beneath her jaw, turn her face to reach the other side, and she hopes that he doesn’t notice the cadence of her pulse, how it changes just knowing he wants to care for her.

Eventually, she accustoms to this; the rhythmic swipe of the towel, nothing but their breathing and the occasional drops of water heard as time passes on silently, just like the glittering flakes that fall and collect on the window sill.

 

When she opens her eyes, she doesn’t see Eren.

A book takes his place on the chair with the bucket sitting beside it, the cloth hanging over its rim. Her joints pop as she stirs and stretches, and almost immediately, she feels the need to empty her bladder. Gingerly, she stands on her feet, tossing the end if her scarf over her shoulder. She maintains her balance as the haze of sleep wears off bit by bit, guided by the flickering candle light. They nearly crash into one another, her as she leaves the bathroom and him as he comes down the hall, a steaming bowl in his hand.

“Sorry,” they murmur at the same time, catching each other off once again until he offers a small smile, whispering _jinx_.

She huffs an amused breath, musing aloud that she already has bad luck. He chuckles breathily, both looking at the bowl in his hands.

“Sasha made you soup. I was coming to wake you, but… yeah.”

“Oh. Thank you, Eren.”

“Yeah,” he says, and then they are both walking back to the room the girls share. “Are you feeling better?”

She hums, suppressing a yawn. “I’m fine.”

They trade the items in their hands, and as she settles at the edge of her mattress with the soup, he places the candle where her glass had been earlier.

“You ate dinner already?”

“Yes, everyone just finished… it’s good, isn’t it?”

She nods, not the least bit surprised as Sasha was the one who made it.

“It almost reminds me of mom’s. I miss it.”

She swallows, looking at him softly. “I can make it for you sometime.” He looks down at his lap, and then at her, a fondness in his eyes. She tucks her chin in her scarf, timidly.

“I’d like that. You make it just like her. Just focus on getting better first.”

He refuses to let her wash the dish, promising to take of it later. She insists, rolling her head from side to side, her face twisting in discomfort.

“Are you okay? Is something hurting?”

“My neck,” she sighs, rubbing over a particularly nasty knot. “I think I slept on it wrong.”

Do you - ah - want me to…” she knows what he’s asking, and offers a reassuring smile.

“If you wouldn’t mind…”

When he sits behind her, she begins to uncoil her scarf, folding it into her lap as he moves aside her lopsided ponytail, settling his palms on each junction between her neck and shoulders. The jerk of her limbs is subtle, immediately followed by a breath slipping past the gentle clench of her teeth. He pulls his hands back, worried.

“Did I hurt you?”

“ _No_ ,” she assures, searching blindly for his hand, holding it back against the blazing skin of her neck. “You're hands - they're cold, but… it feels nice.” He pants out his relief, telling her not to do that and she bites back another smile.

His thumbs knead the back of her neck, and she drops her head forward, closing her eyes.

He adds a little more pressure, rolling over the knot. “Is this okay?” Goosebumps lightly prickle over her skin.

“Mmhm. I think you’re better at this than I am,” she says, trying to alleviate some awkwardness. Hours of training had left them all sore, but she always felt that Eren worked the hardest out of all of them, to the point of overworking himself. When even the simplest of movements made him hiss, she’d rub his shoulders and arms until his protests died on his tongue, replaced instead with reluctant gratitude.

“Ha… I doubt it.”

His hands get tired soon enough, and she thanks him, reaching for her scarf. He beats her to it, and from his place behind her, he wraps it around her neck. She looks down and touches the fabric, running her fingers over the familiar patches of stitch. The pain throbbing against her temples begins to quiet, and despite the hours of rest she had, her lids begin to droop.

“You should get some rest.” She turns to face him. “You must be tired.”

“Kind of,” he says, cracking his knuckles. “It’s not like I’ve done much.”

“Still. It’s getting late.”

“Alright, Alright,” he whines, and then he’s laying back on her bed, making her eyes widen a fraction.  

“Don’t… I don’t want you to catch something.”

“ _I’ll be fine_.” He crosses his arms behind his head, meaning to mock her, but it has an opposite effect. “I’ll leave in a little bit.”

“...Okay.” She lies next to him, creating a comfortable space between them. Her eyes shift to his, but they’re already closed, his usual, light scowl creasing his face. She faces the other side, watching the candle as it burns low, the flame already reaching the end of the wick. It’s the last thing she remembers before the first rays of daylight stream into her room again. The other beds in the room remain unoccupied as they were the night before and she furrows her brows, absentmindedly wondering just what time it is. She stiffens when she hears his snore, blushes when she realizes his forehead is pressed into her shoulder. The room is chilled and they’re both lying on top of her sheets, but she can’t ignore just how warm she feels, blood rapidly flowing into her hands, her face.  With how early it seems to be in the morning, she decides not to disturb him and falls back to sleep, amusedly wondering just how mortified he’s going to be once he wakes.


	26. Light Upon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A request from anonymous, asking for Eren to only make it see Mikasa taken away, and for her to be later saved by the MP. When Maria falls, they meet again <3 I loved this request, and I hated that it took me so long ;-; so sorry so sorry. I hope you all enjoy this!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. I can't believe this work has reached 200 kudos! This makes me so happy, I don't know how to thank you guys enough without sounding annoyingly sappy, haha. So I'll do it anyway. I appreciate every single kudos and bookmark. I re-read comments and no matter how many times I do, I just have to do some kind of happy dance cause they are like my lifeline (I'm not exaggerating lbs) Please keep doing so! I love you guys and hope each of you has a great morning/afternoon/evening/night :3

They meant to take him, to sell him along with her. But when the military police arrived, they decided to abandon the idea entirely, thinking themselves lucky if they can escape with just her. His eyes, glossed over with pain, stare into hers. They burn themselves into her memory, apologies communicated with every slow blink as tears begin to well with fear, with guilt. It’s her fault, all of it. She struggles against the men dragging her out the back window, screaming out for the stranger lying broken on the floorboards, but they only tug her harder, glass shards sinking into her calves. 

Even when it’s over a mile and a few precise shots later, her face, caked in everything from dirt to blood, remains stricken. She can see the empty faces of her captivators, making out the marks that small, brave hands had left on their skin before the men got the better of him. She flinches when a soldier pulls her upright, the urgency in her voice startling him when her ties are finally cut loose.

“Where is he?” 

He kneels in front of her, setting down his lantern. “You’re safe, kid. He’s not going to hurt you anymore.” 

She shakes her head vigorously. “That boy,” she clarifies, pointing over his shoulder. “The one back there - is he okay?” 

He turns around, holding up his light to the path behind him. “There was another one?”

Her heart sinks as she pictures him, still lying there alone and hurt without else anyone knowing. She stumbles in that direction, determined to find him but is stopped short, both by a firm hand and the warmth streaming from her wounds. He motions for the only other soldier with them to go check, easing the pressure on her shoulder. 

“Someone is going to see.” She continues to stare after the other soldier until he squeezes her arm, prompting her to look at him. Then he smiles, sympathetic. “Why don’t we get you out of here, huh? You’re hurt.” 

She looks down at her feet, bare, scraped, and muddied. Despite the friendly front he takes, she can’t help but distrust him, scared that he’ll try to trick her like the men behind her tried to trick that boy. Father warned her about leaving with people she didn’t know. But he isn’t here, and neither is her mother, and the only stranger she wants to see could very well be with her parents.

“Where will you take me?” 

He stands at his full height, sticking two fingers into his mouth to sound a whistle that reaches and echoes between distant trees,

“Into the nearest town.” He takes off his military jacket, gingerly wrapping it over her shoulders. “Maybe we can try to find someone from your family who can take you in.”

Long lashes bat slow, fighting a losing battle against the tears she can’t seem to control. Her arms completely slacken, and she feels truly hollow when she says, “I don’t have any.”

 

He isn’t there when they pass the cabin again. They say that his father came and took him home just before her return, and she sinks impossibly more into the saddle, diminished. But through her disappointment, she feels something like relief because he is, in the very least,  _ alive _ . She remembers his eyes, measures the intensity they had upon meeting them.  She thinks about looking into them and thanking their owner over and over, wonders if they’d be happy to see her. There’s a vague familiarity to their color, placed somewhere in the fog of her early memories. They took a different shape, framed with glass lenses and always capable of diagnosing her with a single look.

It isn’t long before the wall she’s only ever heard of comes into view, and although it is purely founded on intuition, she believes he’s in there; somewhere inside this town the soldier calls Shiganshina.

 

He’s never seen the streets become quite as still, or heard a hush so quiet in the midst of people. But it’s absolutely terrifying, just how chaotic everything became in a matter of seconds. Armin pulled at him desperately, struggling to keep his hold through the tens of people bumping into them. He doesn’t remember losing Armin in the crowds, hears only the piercing ringing in his ear as he moves against the current of widespread panic, a vestige of the striking light. 

There’s another flash, though this time, it’s behind his eyes. He’s on the ground before he can feel the pain, and looking up to the person he collided with, he finds himself completely numb. 

It’s unmistakable; the slant of her eyes, the darkness of her hair, the lightness of her skin. He remembers her so distinctly, her memory kept alive through dreams and nightmares and everything in between. Her expression mirrors his, it seems, their trance broken when a leg shoves into her shoulder. He pulls her up, clumsily, shielding her from the horde threatening to trample her and the shingles that continuously fall from rooftops. 

They don’t exchange a word and just like Armin, she pulls at him, tugs his sleeve to run with the crowd, silently telling him to hurry, to leave with her.  _ My mom my mom  _ is all he can say, hoping that it’s enough for her to let go and it is, as she relents the tug on his arm. He says his apologies over again even after she’s no longer in sight because somehow it feels like he’s failed her  _ again _ . He curses whatever deity for bringing her to him in the worst possible time as he runs home, turning onto the streets he’s walked all his life and watching them empty with a sick stomach. 

Trying to lift the splintered beam proves to be the greatest challenge of his life. He can hear his mom begging, not for her life but for his and it’s  _ devastating _ , and it's enough to bring frustrated tears to his eyes. He pushes himself, using every ounce of his strength and for a second, he is convinced that it’s his doing when the beam lifts slightly higher. But then he hears her grunts at his side, taking both him and his mother by surprise. Together, they pull, lift, and they struggle, even when they’re told not to, even when a titan stalks in their direction. 

Hannes-san is the one who takes them both away despite his cries to leave him behind, and he cannot recall the moments where they reached the wall or when their feet finally stepped onto the wooden dock to safety. Hannes leaves and he does not feel anything when Armin finds him again, not relief, nor the burn in his lungs and hands. There is still smoke rising over the walls, illuminated and outlined by the last rays of day, their shadows swirling, looming over them. He is reminded over again, wiping furiously at his lids as if it could erase the images behind them. His head falls to his knees, defeated, done, and he only lifts it back up when he feels someone move to sit in front of him. 

Mikasa watches him, worried yet patient, her gaze flicking down before she lifts her wounded fingers to squeeze his own. Grey eyes blink slowly at him and he sniffles, looking back at her with sad eyes until she embraces him without warning, moving between his legs and coiling her arms around him. He takes his time to lean on her a little more, not exactly reciprocating the gesture but she doesn’t question it, placing an understanding hand on his back. It’s bizarre, the fact that they are strangers and yet they’ve been through more hell together than two people should go through in a lifetime. But he supposes they were never truly strangers since that night, and her embrace conveys it all.

When his tears are spent, he succumbs to sleep, drifting to the gentle waves of the canal, ebbing and flowing against the boat. His head falling onto her shoulder is completely accidental, but years from now, he’ll learn from Armin that she wept upon the contact, utterly relieved to have found him and though he didn’t realize it then, he shared the sentiment, more profoundly than he thought himself capable. 


	27. Hidden Twilight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A request from anonymous for Eren trying to find a way to rescue a badly injured Mikasa (I live for these kinds of prompts). Thank you very much! <3 This takes place around chapter 56 when Eren is first taken by Kenny in the forest. In this au, Squad Levi tries to rescue him and Historia then instead of later. I hope you enjoy!

With the evening comes a kind of silence, a calm that sets with the sun. Though it does little to assuage the thoughts racing through his mind, and instead counterproductively adds to them. His chest and all the organs within burn for oxygen, the space they’re hemmed in making the need nearly unbearable. Yet he forces himself to wait beneath the thicket, breaths and movements bated to avoid the careful eye of the enemy. 

The scent of metallic is strong as it permeates the air between them and he holds promises behind gritted teeth, begrudged and guiltily. She stirs as quiet as she can manage beneath him, fear overtaking their discomfort when dry leaves abruptly crunch beneath them. The footsteps that had become ambient cease all at once, drawing nearer in the moments following and he instinctively holds her closer, waiting with a hand raised readily to his mouth. His last resort. 

“What are you all doing?” 

He blinks, stiffening at the sudden voice. His eyes peer through the branches, catching fragmented figures that are close, dangerously so.

“Looking for Eren, sir. He ran off in this direction with another.” 

“It seems like that girl was injured. They couldn’t have gotten far.” 

“No,” the man grunts, adjusting the firearm in his hand. “I got her from behind. Lugging someone around won’t get anyone far. If the kid is smart, he’d leave her. And he didn’t look dumb to me, so what are you lot standing here for?”

“We heard something - just now, somewhere in this immediate spot.”

His heart thrums louder, faster in his ears. Neither of them breathe. 

“It ever occur to you that this is a forest? And that there are hundreds of animals small enough to startle?” He scoffs, treading only a few feet away. “Quit wastin’ time. The sun is going to set soon. Just keep moving forward and find the rest of his squad. He’s bound to be with them.” 

Though they can hardly contain their relief at being alone once more, it is short lived. Carefully, he helps her out and with at hand at the base of her skull, he leans her back against a tree trunk. His stomach pits the moment he peels back her cloak to examine her wound in full, hands hovering over her abdomen undecidedly and he feels truly at a loss, wondering what he has to sacrifice in order to finally protect his friends from harm. Sensing his remorse, she curls her fingers around his, pulling his attention back. 

“My gear… I don’t think…” With only a few words she is breathless, and she closes her eyes with a slow intake of air, blinking back up at him with determination to finish her sentence. 

“I don’t think it’s damaged.” She pulls her hand away to reach for the belt fastened at her chest and he catches on, immediately taking her hand back in his. 

“ _No_ ,” he says firmly and her eyes plead with him, her expression communicating what she verbally cannot. “There has to be another way to get both of us out of here. Or at the very least, get _you_ to safety. This…” He looks down at the bloom of crimson just below her ribs and he shakes his head. “We’ll be fine, I just have to think.” 

The last rays of sunlight reach the tops of the trees and he begins to panic, his eyes roving each of them as if an answer was woven within their branches. They have an hour at best before nightfall, and with nothing to see or navigate with - 

“You heard him, Eren… You can’t get anywhere - with me.”

Her chin dips behind her scarf and he eyes the velvet material, noting small, jagged tears along the old stitching. Its coil is sloppy and dirtied from her fall and he adjusts it, fixing his gaze at her neck.

“Of course I can, Mikasa.” The backs of his fingers graze the smooth lining of her jaw, and he swallows at the touch, how foreign it all is to him. Then, he regains the grit he’s infamous for, places his palms on her shoulders and wills for her to believe in him. As long as there was still air in their lungs, he vowed to never succumb to hopelessness. “I did it before and I can do it again.” 

The tension in her limbs seems to ease under his hands, something softening in her eyes. Hidden under the tightness of her lids, their color had dulled with pain. A kind that he had seen before. But then grey began to shimmer silver.

“Okay,” she murmurs, punctuating with a single nod. “I trust you.”    
  
  



	28. One Thing In Common

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A request from DoctorArchangel for a blind date for coffee! thank you very much! I've had an idea that I've been meaning to put into writing for some time, and I saw an opportunity to use it here! I hope you don't mind. I imagine that their blind date wouldn't be the "typical" kind, you know? Enjoy!

 “What is the meaning of all of this?” 

At once, everything stills. He hadn’t stopped to realize just how big of a scene they were making, but as irritated as he is, there isn’t any room to care. His grip on this guy’s shirt loosens, glass crunching beneath his shoes as he steps back. Her hand stays on his chest, eyes doe-like at the abrupt, intimidating voice. A finger is pointed at him then, and he follows it back to her red faced companion. 

“He started it.” 

The second he opens his mouth to argue, he feels her fingers curl and gently fist his sweater. Her calm gaze douses the fire in his own, and he can see that she is pleading with him. Instantly, he relents, his anger simmering into shame under her eyes. He lost control again. 

“You two,” the man says, looking from him to her, “need to leave. Now.” 

They stand outside for a few moments after the door shuts behind them, and he makes the mistake of looking through the window, watching as the restaurant’s employees tend to that guy, as if  _ he _ was the victim. He throws on his coat, sighing. 

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, bowing his head to her. “It seems like I did anything but help.” 

“You don’t… he deserved it, you don’t have to apologize.” She mirrors his gesture, thanking him. He looks up when he hears the crunch of snow beneath her receding boots, and without thinking, he chases after her. 

“Wait! Where are you going?” 

She keeps walking, her voice as light as the snow falling from above. “Home.” 

He jogs up and nearly slips before stopping in front of her, and feels guilty at her downcast expression. “I ruined your night, please let me make it up to you.” 

“You didn’t ruin it. It was my fault for agreeing to this kind of thing.” She brushes aside her wet bangs. “How embarrassing.” 

He tilts his head at her. “This kind of thing?”

“A blind date.” 

His pant puffs between them, dissipating with his confusion.  _ That’s  _ what this is. He hadn’t assumed anything about her relationship with that man when he initially stepped in, but thinking back, there’s no way someone as soft spoken as her would consciously agree to go out with such an ill-mannered person, had she known of course. 

“I see.” 

She shifts in place and an idea suddenly comes to mind. 

“Right. Well then, I’ll be your blind date.” 

Her eyes quickly meet his again, wide with something like surprise, or maybe shock at such a forward suggestion. He cringes internally, late in wondering who in their right mind would agree to go out with a stranger upon asking. Though, he questions whether they are strangers anymore, considering what just passed. 

“What?” She shakes her head then, staring at his chest. “No, you don’t have to… I don’t want to further interrupt your evening.” 

“You’re not interrupting anything. I want to make up for getting us both kicked out.” And for accidentally getting water on her when he dumped a full glass of it on that guy’s head, and for shattering her own glass as they scuffled with her in between. 

She chews on her bottom lip, unsure. 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. It’s just -” he shoves his hands into his pockets and looks off at a street light, cursing himself for pressuring her. “I know it’s a strange offer, but you had a shitty first date and I’ve had a few of those myself. Though I’ve never actually gotten myself kicked out during.” He laughs, a bit dryly, trying to make light of the conversation. Looking back at her, he feels bashful. 

“I don’t want to see you go home so early because you look beautiful tonight and - we don’t know each other, but I’ve seen enough to know that you deserve better than what happened back there.” 

He’s done quite a bit of rambling at this point, and he can feel his ears burning from his unfiltered and half-assed explanation. He’s not as articulate as he thought he was. But her silence doesn’t stretch long. 

“Coffee.” 

He blinks at her, dumbfounded. “Huh?” 

She graces him with a small smile and clarifies. “I like coffee.” And to his surprise, she hooks her arm around his, guiding him down the street and he quickly discovers that her touch is emanative; it's tender yet emphatic pull, the warmth that blooms and reaches his cheeks. 

“I feel like I should be the one asking to make it up to you,” she admits after some time. 

He smirks.

“Ah, I suppose you’re right. After all, I did swoop in and ever so gallantly save you,” he exaggerates, placing a self-indulgent hand on his chest. “It’s only right that you - ow!” 

He pulls away to nurse the skin she mercilessly pinched, pouting at her seemingly satisfied look. Like a child, he playfully refuses to acknowledge her, and still, he continues to walk at her side.

“You’re right though. You saved me. Thank you, um…” she looks at him, prompting for his name. 

“Eren.”

“Eren,” she echoes, taking his arm again. “I’m Mikasa.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to think that if they were to meet in a modern au, Eren would save Mikasa in some way shape or form :)


	29. Bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A request from anonymous for a sequel to chapter 23: Onlook :D (first sequel I've done for this collection!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would recommend reading chapter 23 before reading this one for context, that is if you haven't already. Thank you all for your support and comments!! Special thank you to Mickey! I have seen your request, and I will work on it soon!

With time, practice, and discipline of her own, the feat of maintaining her composure had become yet another skill of hers, an “art” as Ymir had unsarcastically called it. Even in the moments following the kiss Eren had pressed to her mouth, she was quick to fill the cracks as Jean’s seat tipped and clattered to the floor. Though, perhaps it was  _ only  _ because of their fight that she was able to collect herself, because focusing on breaking Eren and Jean apart was certainly easier than processing his open display of affection.  

His reaction upon realizing what he had done didn’t make it any better. Unlike her, he had the complete inability to hide a single thing he felt, a defining characteristic that set him apart from the rest of them. He is an open book whether he acknowledges it or not; the smiles, frowns, and tears all conveying what couldn’t be properly expressed. But he had seemed to be at a true loss for words as he stared at her then, visage unlike anything she’s seen from him.  

Her shoulder collides with another, abruptly pulling her from the yesterday’s memory and closer into his personal space. Immediately she retracts, cursing their timing as they continue to wade through the crowded market. Eren adjusts his hood a little more over his head, and her, the basket she carries in her arms, neither of them acknowledging her small incident. She isn’t sure if she should be disconcerted by his silence, or if he’s simply taking Hanji-san’s rule of  _ laying low  _ more seriously than she would’ve thought. Either way, she can hardly keep herself from reading into it.

She never dwells on these kinds of matters, the ones that kept other girls in her barracks awake past curfew with glowing cheeks and stories of hands that roamed, proof littering their necks in the shape of bites. Though her mind would curiously drift to Eren, what happened between them couldn’t compare with any story she heard passively. It was chaste, perhaps even accidental, their kiss. Her chest feels heavier at the thought, fingers curling tighter around the braids of the basket because by knowing him, she couldn’t really believe it to be anything  _ but  _ an accident. Although she wills herself to forget, she chances a look at him, realizing then that he isn’t in front of her anymore. There's a fall in her stomach and she holds back from calling his name, using her slight advantage of height to seek him out. 

Her thoughts become more frantic once she reaches a small clearing in the crowd and she chastises herself for becoming distracted here - of all places - with all things -

“You really need to slow down, Mikasa. I can hardly keep up with you.” 

Her gaze quickly follows the direction of his voice, and she didn’t know she was holding her breath until it came rushing out of her mouth in relief. The basket lowers in her arms, guilt coming forth as she notes the heavy rise and fall of his chest. 

“I’m sorry.” 

With yet another influx of people, he waves her off and wordlessly, they move forward. She firmly reminds herself to focus and follow their superiors’ instructions, becoming more alert to their surroundings with the end of the street in sight. In her effort to keep track of him, she makes the conscious decision to stay closer than before, careful not to let someone pass between them should she lose sight again. 

“Are you okay?” 

Someone steps on her boot and she fights the urge to sigh. 

“I’m fine. Just - we shouldn’t risk getting separated again.” 

“You keep bumping into me.” 

“Sorry -”

“Here,” he interrupts, grasping part of the basket’s handle, gesturing for her to do the same. “We shouldn’t get lost this way.”  

They both fix the weight comfortably in their hands and she becomes less tense, finding his method to be easier, better even. The sides of their palms brush with each step and she silently marvels at how smooth his feel. It makes her self-conscious of her own skin, worn, calloused; everything a woman’s hand shouldn’t feel like. Subtly, she inches her hand away from his, letting him guide as she ensures they have everything Historia had enlisted them inside the basket. 

Eren suddenly halts as she continues, his grip tugging her back. They stop in front of a stand decorated with foliage, the blossoms in the lady’s arms catching her eye. The colors bear a close resemblance to the ones that she helped her mother tend to in their garden, seasonal as she knew them. Unconsciously, she searches for their aroma, inhaling softly through her nose.

“Would you like one for your lady?” 

She draws a breath, response automated as this is not the first time they’ve been mistaken for a couple, but he turns to her before she can say a word, making any denial knot in her throat when he asks, “Do you want one?” 

“Ah,” she fidgets with her sleeve, looking from the flowers to the items they carry, and carefully back at him. “I don’t think we have any more money left over...” 

Her voice lowers a notch, speech slow in hopes that he catches her drift. But he doesn't cause his free hand is patting over his pockets, an explicative lost in between the rustle of his clothing until he makes a small sound of triumph. 

“Is this enough?” 

He places the coins in the lady’s outstretched palm, watching as she counts. 

“Eren -” 

“Shh.”

She blinks, not quite expecting him to hush her. Despite being curious at his persistence, she knows they shouldn't just spend money that was hard to come across in the first place, let alone save. 

“...But -” 

“It's okay.”

“You don't have to -”

“Mikasa.” She pauses, gaping at him. “Shh.” 

The saleswoman looks at them with a tender face, amused. 

“Which one would you like?” 

He nods at the flowers when she looks at him again for reassurance, and she swallows, feeling the weight of his and the woman's gaze as she reaches for one. 

“Those are lovely, aren't they?” 

She holds it to her nose after a moment, humming her agreement into the flower. She’s never seen one of these as big, or nearly as bountiful with petals. 

“It looks kind of a cabbage.” 

Both her and the woman look at Eren with expressions that make him shrink back before the latter laughs.

“I've never seen it that way until you pointed out, young man. It does, doesn't it?” 

He gives a kind of nervous chuckle, evidently relieved and her lips twitch upwards at the sight.

The woman thanks them for business and soon they are walking again, both of her hands now full. She studies the flower, becoming quite preoccupied until he leans over to touch the petals, clearing his throat. 

“I wanted to say I'm sorry.” 

She tilts her head at the apology and he elaborates, looking off to the side. 

“For yesterday morning.” 

Her blood warms, stomach twisting and heart beginning a familiar race. The memory had already started to clear from her thoughts, and just like that, she's tossed back in.  

“I must've taken you by surprise,” he says, a hand cupping the back of his neck. “And you have the right to be upset with me.” 

Upset? 

“It's just -” he pauses, grimacing and clearly struggling to gather his thoughts. “My mind was hazy from the tests I did with Hanji and, well, that’s never really happened to me before. But - I won't use that to excuse myself.”

So it  _ had  _ been an accident. She feels that pang again, confused at her disappointment when she had already seen it coming. Something must show on her face because he frowns, lips setting into a straight line. 

“I hope you can forgive me, Mikasa.” 

She wills herself to calm, builds the courage to look at him as she replies.

“I was never upset with you.” 

“No?” 

“No.” 

“Oh.” They turn away from one another. “I thought you were walking fast earlier because you were mad. I thought you didn't want me to come with you here.” 

“I don't feel that way. It was an accident, so… so don't worry about it, Eren.” It doesn't come out as casually as she wanted it to, some sadness leaking into her voice. She feels that she shouldn't, to spare herself more pain, but for a brief second, she wonders if he noticed the hints of melancholy, wonders what he’d do if he did. 

“The flower is beautiful. Thank you, Eren.” She forces a smile with the change in subject, his eyes widening a fraction before he casts them off to the side. 

“Y-yeah.” 

They finally start to reach the end of the street and the lack of people there is nothing short of relieving for her, and she welcomes the wave of nostalgia. Her and Eren returning home from the market, the slight winds in the road, the scent of spices and hum of the crowd as it quiets; it all reminds her of Shiganshina; the monotonous routine she never thought she’d miss so much. 

They’d often walked in a comfortable silence then, but now, it feels like there's something tense about it; she couldn’t name what it was or if it was even there to begin with. But before she can begin to think about it, her attention is caught when she sees movement in her peripheral and she slows their pace, her grip on the basket slackening. 

“What is it?” 

He stands beside her, trying to follow her eyes. 

“Can you see it?” 

“No? See what?” He searches in the wrong direction, and she tugs on the handle, prompting him to turn towards her. 

“There, over there,” she says, guiding his gaze with the blossom.

The tree stands completely alone, growing where the hill begins to curve, just like to the one back in Maria. Two children chase each other around its base and she smiles. She can see herself sitting next to Eren, watching his eyes move beneath their lids as he slept. 

“That… that looks like the old tree from back then!” 

“Mm.” 

His sigh is light, his words hardly loud enough to hear over the breeze. “I hope we can see that tree again some day.” It’s the quietest she’s heard him speak in a long time. There’s a lowness, a sort of tone that’s unique to him. It reminds her of when that same voice lulled her to sleep when she was restless, the same voice that consoled Armin when they lost his grandfather not too long after the fall. For someone impulsive and at times brash, he could be so unbelievably gentle and caring. 

“We will. You’ll get us there,” she reassures, hoping he’ll believe it as much as she does. 

“How can you be so sure? Everything seems to be going so wrong… what if I can’t?” 

While he was overconfident in certain areas, he also had a knack for self-doubt. And who could blame him? He was right. Their problems are more complex and bigger than man-eating monsters, their enemies only increasing in number. But after everything they’ve already overcome, she supposes it’s only right to feel optimistic. It’s something he’d taught her after all, even when she thought him to be gone forever. She angles her head to the sky and with such conviction and honesty, she says, “I have faith in you.” 

For the second time, he turns to her and she to him. It’s as if he’s looking for something as he studies her face, but then his eyes fall to her lips and she stiffens, becoming completely void of thought when he pulls back his hood and fills the short distance between them. The only thing she can recall with clarity is the slow second that passed when teals glanced back up to meet grey, and her lids fell permissively, blood warming and undoubtedly coloring every inch of her skin. 

She finds that his lips are as soft as his hands, if not softer and it’s careful, the way they mold to hers. He pulls back some and she thinks it’s over, but then he lifts a free hand to cup her jaw and his kiss is firmer, more passionate than the last. Her hands ache to wrap around his wrist, to skim the length of his chest and neck as they become less hesitant, but she only tightens her grip on the basket and the stem, trying to find a rhythm through the clumsiness. 

Goosebumps prickle her skin when he whispers her name, and with as much confidence as she can muster, she responds with a bump of her nose against his. He doesn’t move far, skimming his palm down her arm to loosely cuff her wrist with his fingers. 

“Everything's a mess right now. And I don’t always say or do the right things. But… ah, I didn’t really think this through,” he says, huffing an amused breath. 

“Do you ever?” she can’t help but ask, unable to keep from teasing him. He lifts his hand to tug at her bangs, ignoring her question. He becomes serious again, clearing his throat. 

“But this,” he continues, reaching down from her hair to thumb over the corner of her mouth. “I meant it.” 

Her lips curl up beneath his thumb and she gives a single nod, understanding. “I’m glad.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

While his lips on hers makes her heart beat fast, almost painfully so, the kiss he presses to her cheek is endearing and leaves her head spinning, and though she buries her face in the cabbage-like flower to hide the intensity of her blush, for that moment she decides that she wouldn’t trade the feeling for anything. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The flower was a peony (<33 they're my fave). These flowers symbolize romance and prosperity, as well as good fortune!! they really need it tbh lolol poor bbies ;-;


	30. Real or Not Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Eremika Week! This is a request from anonymous for a Hunger Games crossover, which happens to fit in with one of the themes for day 1 so I decided to wait till today to post it! Thank you all again for the reviews and kudos! :3

They wrap the bandages around his throat in a way that's both firm and uncomfortable, but nothing suffocates him more than seeing his best friend hollowed and listless, completely consumed by a false hatred that torments both of them. 

The once definite features of her face protrude and line her sunken cheeks, and his eyes fall to her wrists, the skin there bruised and marked from the ligatures that were loosened only a day prior. The sickly bloom of red that rims her eyes fades more and more each day as she recuperates, all while the sleepless shade of purple swells more prominently beneath his. 

With a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, Hanji tells him to leave, that his presence won't lessen the effects of the venom. The wounds that were mercilessly left on his neck alone should've been enough of a reason to stay away.

But the person who attacked him back then wasn’t Mikasa. It's horrific what being held by the Capitol did to her, and it's so hard to just  _ go on and rest _ while he is the very reason she’s in that state. It was a relief for all of them when she got better, at least enough for her to be on the team again but the tension never really faltered, on his end at least. He desperately wants to talk to her, to try and sort out whatever has come between them but instead, he finds himself avoiding her, excuses constructed from his own cowardice and fear of rejection. But as they are going to have to split up with the upcoming plan, he can’t help but ponder the consequences should it fail. The thought of never seeing her again becomes too real, and tonight, the nightmares are enough to make him leave the confinements of his quarters to find hers. 

Before her door, he suddenly loses the confidence he had when he first stood, unsure how she’ll react upon seeing him. He doesn’t know how much time has passed since they’ve actually spoken. The pain he feels as he swallows reminds him again of the predicament that destroyed years of friendship and trust between them. But after running away from it for too long, he steels himself with a racing heart and despite the risk, he twists the knob and pushes the door open.  

He feels guilty when he discovers that she’s asleep, because he is utterly  _ relieved _ . As bad as it sounds, it’s easier for him to approach her like this, and eventually, for him to sit at the foot of her bed. He watches over what the candlelight reveals of her, as though he can find a way to help her by studying the subtle movements of her limbs, and even more rarely, by listening to her indecipherable murmurs. When she whimpers, his hands instinctively reach out in their efforts to comfort her, but they stop short, never daring to actually touch her lest she wake up.

“I’m sorry… I can’t be there for you like I want to. I don’t know how to fix this, but it’s okay if you need more time. You always waited for me, so - I’ll do the same for you.” 

He remembers how Armin made them promise to look out for one another after he volunteered for him, and he realizes just how terribly he misses him and Mikasa. He begins to reminisce about simpler times aloud, telling her stories of when the three of them were younger. Though she can’t consciously hear him, he hopes that he’s helping her in a way, that somehow those memories could come back uncompromised if he tells her about them. The team would certainly pity him for thinking that his words might actually reach her, but not even he could fully understand what he’s going through. It’s the most content he’s felt in months, so he continues whispering to her, keen to the flutter of her lids. He doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep in her room until a hand gently tugs at his arm and he stirs, sitting up with a hunch in his back. Drowsy greens meet a calm shade of grey and when he becomes sensible enough, they startle him. He falls off her bed with a small yelp, scrambling to his hands and knees. His face angles toward her and Mikasa is equally as startled, prompting his ears to burn in embarrassment.

Apologizing many times over, he gathers himself in a rush, fumbling over the most trivial of tasks until she stops him with a single utterance of his name. 

“Are you alright?”

He’s nearly speechless, somewhat unsure how to answer her question. 

“I uh - I think I should be asking you that…” 

She stares down at her lap, fixing her legs to sit more comfortably. “I’m okay.” And then it’s so unbearably quiet in her room, neither of them looking at one another. He means to dismiss himself with a final apology, but to his surprise, she beats him to it. 

“I’m sorry I scared you. I didn’t expect to find you here this late - or early I suppose.”

_ She’s _ sorry? Though it’s definitely something Mikasa would say, he only nods in acknowledgment, mindful of her unpredictability. 

“Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

Shit. 

“I uh - I couldn’t really sleep. So I got up and, well, thought I’d check on you. And you’re fine - obviously,” he gestures to her. “So…” 

She follows his eyes to the door and when he starts towards it, she speaks up again. 

“Levi came to talk to me.” 

He looks over his shoulder at her, curious. “He did? 

“And Hanji.”

“Oh.”

“They told me what happened to me while I was taken, about the venom. Those memories of you, they were so real I just - I’m more confused now and… I don’t even know what  _ is _ real anymore.” 

Tentatively, he walks back towards her, sitting at the foot of her bed once more. 

“Why don’t you ask me then?”

“Ask?” 

“Yeah… tell me something you aren’t sure about and I’ll tell you if it’s real, or if it isn’t. Sasha does that with Connie.” 

“Um - alright.” She fidgets with her sheets, deciding what she wants to ask. He sits patiently, watching as drops of hot wax dribble down the sides of the wick, flame as still as the air between them. 

“Your favorite color is blue. Real or not real.” 

A small smile forms on his lips as he was expecting something more serious, but he nods anyway, looking at her when he replies, “real. Yours is green.” 

She nods too, thanking him before becoming contemplative again. 

“You came to rescue me on your own. Real or not real.

“It’s real.” In an afterthought, he asks, “did Levi and Hanji tell you that?”

He doesn’t think he’s ever going to forget the scolding he received from his two superiors. But what he wishes he could forget was the sounds of her screams as they tortured her, asking her questions he knew she didn’t have the answers to. With his hands over his ears, he had lost it in front of the monitors that had surveillance on everything they were doing to her, He distinctly remembers feeling like his chest had been crushed, being trapped in a room where he could see everything they knew he wouldn't be able to handle. He had played right into their trap and failed everyone. For a moment, he wanted nothing more than to take the nightlock pill, and to this day he hates himself for being selfish and for actually considering giving up on her. If it hadn’t been for Levi and the rest of the team, he doesn’t think either of them would be sitting here. 

“They did.” Neither of them say anything, and she decides to move on. “We used to live together. Real or not real.”

“Real.”

She swallows thickly, averting her eyes. “You had something to do with my parents’ murder. Real or N-”

“ _ Not real _ . That’s - you -” he sighs, mentally taking a step back before opening his mouth again. “I went to go find you after me and my dad found them. It was the people who kidnapped you that I - that  _ we _ killed.  _ Not _ your parents.” 

She lifts a hand to hold her head, hissing in pain. 

“Mikasa, what’s wrong?”

“Go,” she says curtly.

“What - “

“Leave Eren,” the heels of her palms press into her eyes. “Hurry, hurry please.” 

“But -”

“Venom,” she manages through clenched teeth and his blood runs cold. 

“It’ll be alright.” He touches her knee in what he thinks is a comforting manner but she retracts instantly, curling into herself as she clearly tries to fight off the effects of the venom. She whimpers, pulling at the strands of her hair and he can’t stand the sight of it.

“Mikasa. Mikasa listen! you have to stay with me, it's going to be alright. Hey!” He pulls her arms aside, cupping her cheeks to make her look at him. Her eyes are panicked as they meet his and he thumbs away the moisture beneath them. In his hands, he can feel her trying to move away and he tugs her face closer in response, pulling until there isn’t any space between them, her lashes are briefly fluttering against his cheeks. 

The tension in her body seems to melt away slowly, like the wax beneath the heat of the flame and he parts air, lessening the pressure in his grip. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispers insistently, eyes opening. 

She’s already watching him, surprise taking the place of panic as she respires, breath warming his mouth. It feels like a while before she says something, and when she raises her hands he fears the worst, but it seems that she means anything but harm as she rests them on his biceps.

“Of course.” 

“Are you still trying to protect me? Real or not real.”

He doesn’t hesitate.

“Real. It’s what we both do. Look out for one another I mean.” 

She nods quickly, more tears welling up. "I thought so." She leans in a little, asking him a question with not words but with her eyes and he answers by meeting her halfway, tilting his head to kiss her better. 

“Stay with me.” This time, it’s her who’s telling him and he doesn’t have to say anything; she pulls him to lay down and he drapes an arm over her waist, awake long enough to see the last of the candle flame dwindle into nothing but wisps of smoke. 


	31. Hereafter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A request from anonymous for terminally ill Eren to propose to Mikasa (*cries*) Anon also requested for it to be set in Isayama's high school AU, and I love it <3 This is for Eremika Week - Day 2: Wedding. It doesn't entirely fit the theme, but I think it's pretty close haha.

How she wraps herself around him is dangerously addictive and even more tortuous. She tangles her legs with his, their twined fingers resting on his chest and he raises their hands, closing his eyes as he kisses the back of her palm. Her sigh heats the base of his neck and he feels so drowsy...

“What are you thinking about?”

His lids peel open, and beneath their hands, his chest begins to feel heavier. She deserves the truth, he owes it to her. It bubbles up his throat leaving a bitter taste on his tongue. In the privacy of his room, the opportunity to tell her presents itself but she props her chin on his shoulder and he opens an eye, greeted with a smile that has him swallowing back his words, pushing them once again to the back of his mind. 

“About how cold your fingers are. It’s like I’m holding hands with a Snowman.” 

She rolls her eyes but her smile is bright, contagious. Her hand begins to retract but he holds it even tighter. Closing his eye, he tells her he’s joking and she curls her fingers into her palm, moving far as his arm will allow when she returns to her place beside him.

“Whatever.”

“Don’t be like that.”

“I’m not being like anything.” 

He shifts so that they face one another and lifts a hand, swiping his thumb over the dark color of her lip.

“You’re pouting.”

“You’re seeing things.” 

“Mikasa.” 

“This is my neutral face.” 

He places his hand behind his head, laying back down with a smile. “ _Sure_.” His grin broadens at her sigh. 

“You just love to argue, don’t you, Eren.” 

“It’s what I’m known for, yes.” 

Her leg kicks at his and he grunts, letting her win this one. “Alright, alright,” he placates, angling his chin to her “Mikasa.” 

She looks at him, deadpanned. “What.” 

Tell her.

“Forgive me,” he says.

She blinks before putting a black nail to her chin, humming in a contemplative pitch. His palm sidles up and down her forearm, the charms of her bracelet chiming with his movements. She searches his face before lying back with him, conceding and combing back the fringe of his hair with her fingers. 

“Alright.”

He scoots closer, taking his turn to bury his face in her neck while she rakes her nails over his scalp. The strands of his hair occasionally catch on her rings and he hisses, sounding rightfully irritated when he asks her why she wears so many. She only shrugs, vaguely explaining that she just likes them and assures them that she’ll be careful. After several minutes of silence, a thought crosses his mind and he nudges her hip.

“Hey.” 

“Hm.” 

“Your birthday is next week.” She hums in agreement this time, the movement of her fingers becoming less focused with the kiss he presses to the center of her throat.

“We should go out and do something.” Another kiss. 

“Mhmm.” 

“Or you could come over again,” he practically purrs, pausing to tug at the strip of lace around her throat, laving his tongue over her skin. “Stay here and celebrate with me.” He knows she’s blushing when her neck warms considerably against his face, and she gives him a real slap when he laughs at her. 

“Seriously though, I do want to go out and do something for your birthday.” He wants to do something more than just gifts and cake, for this year’s and for the ones he can be there for, make them special because he knows that he won’t be around to celebrate all of them. He hollows at the thought once again and frowns into her collarbone, wondering why he keeps putting off telling her. How do you even begin to explain something like this? He’s thought about outwardly saying it, but it all sounds too casual in his head, something that’s insensitive even for him. Even if he did manage to tell her, what then? Would she treat him differently? Save herself the trouble and leave? It would be a smarter choice in his opinion, but selfishly, it’s for this reason he thinks that he can’t tell her. At least not yet. He may just die an earlier death by her hands. 

Her thumb soothes over the still pulsating area she hit, and he shakes the negative thoughts, taking in her light scent. Though the future is a rather bleak topic for him, he tries to imagine Mikasa’s, pictures the kind of woman she’ll become in even after he's gone. She’d be successful for sure, doing something like teaching or art, or whatever she has her mind set on doing. She’d have a cat, one that’s eerily silent yet affectionate only towards the ones closest to it, like her. And maybe she’d let her hair grow longer and maybe stop wearing those rings, all except one that would adorn her left hand. He wants to hug her closer and turn away all at the same time, struggling to control the moisture that stings his eyes and the jealousy he has at the thought of her being with someone else. 

“Hey, Mikasa?” 

“You’re really talkative tonight.” 

He ignores her remark.

“I wanna ask you something,” he manages through the lump in his throat, still unsure of how to word his question.

“Okay,” she yawns. He steels himself, drawing an anxious breath.

“Will you stay with me?” 

“I can't stay the entire night, you know that already -” 

“ _No_ ,” he breathes, amused. “No that isn’t what I mean.” 

It takes a moment, but then Mikasa is moving to look down at him and he meets her gaze fully. “What do you mean then?” From the way she watches him, he’s sure that she knows the answer to her own question. He spells it out for her anyway, hopeful and nervous. 

“I meant… forever.” 

The soft blush that had already made its place on her cheeks intensifies, spreading over the bridge of her nose and up to the tips of her ears.

“Eren,” she whispers gently, and he already knows what she’s going to say. “We’re only 16… anything could change.” 

He sits up on his forearm, looking down at her. “That’s exactly why,” he says firmly. “Anything could change. Something could happen with me or you. We aren’t guaranteed anything, including our lives.” 

She seems taken back by the serious route their lighthearted conversation has taken, regarding him with worried eyes. 

“Why are you talking like that? Is something wrong?” 

His jaw falls open slightly, moving to speak but the words refuse to come out. Guiltily, he averts his eyes and presses his mouth into a thin line. She begins to sit up but he stops her, carefully pushing her back down.

“I’m just saying… I don’t want to lose what you and I have. It’s a lot to ask, I know. And you’re right. We’re only sixteen and it isn’t the eighteen hundreds.” This pulls a small smile from her and he mirrors her expression. “But - please Mikasa… will you stay with me?” 

She nudges aside the hand holding her down and she sits up, bringing his face to hers. When they pull apart she continues to press kisses all over his face, undoubtedly leaving traces of her dark lipstick all over his skin but he couldn’t feel any happier, any more alive when she finally says _yes_.


	32. Carpus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was inspired (which honestly is such a rarity nowadays) by seeing the Eastern Clan Mark in the latest chapter of the manga, and I really wanted to write about it cause holy crap that's probably on Mikasa's wrist :o Thank you for all the kudos and nice comments you all leave me <3

Each blink was heavy, slow like the hours she had spent willing herself to fall asleep. Reluctant to wake her new friend, she settled for the company of her own thoughts, staring up at the beams that supported the place she had recently begun to call ‘home.’ On the inside of her wrist is the only remnant she has from her life before, and though she tries not to actively think about it, she traces its odd shape, contemplating the meaning behind it. He is the first to ask about the mark when her bandages get wet from washing dishes, pointing at it as she sets aside the damp bindings. 

“What is that on your wrist?” 

The question startles her and, feeling inexplicably pressured, she isn’t sure how to explain it to him.

Tradition had its role in her life before her parents died. Her mother made it a point to teach her about their culture, nearly everything from methods of embroidery to songs and indigenous beliefs. With her coming of age is the memory of hands, pale and thin as her own, wiping away stray tears before they wrapped bandages around the small circumference of her wrist, each layer covering the raw skin that puckered along the harsh, languid strokes of ink. 

“My mom put it there. It’s supposed to be something that gets passed down...” She trails off, unsure if she’s making any sense to him.

“Passed down?”

“From a parent to their child. And once that child grows up and has children of their own, they give it to them when they are of age.” She hands him another dish to dry. “That’s what my mom said.” 

Eren stares at it a moment more before turning over and inspecting his own wrists. “You and I are the same age, and I don’t have anything cool like that,” he pouts. 

Her gaze shifts from the suds covering the plate to her skin. Since receiving it, she never really knew what to think of it, other than the fact that it was important to her “people,” as her mom put it. She feels a small burst of pride at his compliment. “You think it’s cool?” 

“Sure. But I think the wings of freedom would be even cooler. I should tell my mom about it.”

Of course, Mrs. Yeager scolds him later in the evening for even suggesting such a thing. In their room, he looks for her eyes in the dark and swears to get one someday. His frustration from arguing with his mom gradually diminishes as he describes what he’d like his to look like. As she listens to him, something she has never felt before began to flow through her veins, trickling into what was left of her heart. For the first time in days, she actually  _ battles  _ sleep to keep hearing his voice, right until she caves to the weight of her lids.

Years later, she’s in almost the same position as that night, trying just as hard to stay awake. But this time, they couldn’t be any closer and it isn’t his eyes but his lips that outline her tattoo, the stubble on his face making her squirm. 

“What…”

“You’re tickling me.” 

He huffs a warm breath against her wrist before swiping a thumb over the brand. “It still looks pretty cool.” She bends her knee against his hip with a lazy smile, brushing back the long strands that fall in his face.

“Did it hurt a lot?” he asks into her palm.

It’s been nearly ten years since then, but she doesn't think she could ever forget the throbbing ache that lasted days after, how awfully tender it was after Eren saved her and cut the ties loose. 

“At the time, yes.” They both continue to stare at her wrist, and she follows up with her own question. “Do you still want one?” 

He shrugs, slightly frowning. 

“I don’t even know if I could. If the needle pricks the wrong way, someone could get hurt.” 

She looks at him sadly and his eyes tell her not to feel sorry for him, falling back to the fading ink. When he crawls to lay beside her, she turns into him with a yawn, smoothing a hand across his chest. 

“Did your mom have the same thing?” 

“Mm. I wanted to be just like her, and I couldn’t wait to get mine. But as soon as she started, I didn’t want it anymore.” 

His chest shakes with light amusement beneath her hand, and she knocks her head into his shoulder affectionately. The silence that follows drifts her mind back to that day, and though the memory of her mother’s face is fading, she could never forget her voice, soft as moonlight.  _ I wonder if I can really pass this down to our children. Like she wanted me to... _

“...Our children?” 

Her eyes fly open and meet his, every ounce of her blood heating her skin uncomfortably. She hadn’t realized she spoke out loud, and she blames her fatigue for speaking so openly about a dream she never thought twice about keeping it to herself. With all the pressure and risks they had, a child was -  _ is _ \- out of the question. 

“Um… I don’t know what I’m saying. I must be really tired,” she surmises, grimacing as she turns away. Him not responding makes it even more embarrassing for her, and she wishes she could’ve just fallen asleep before this conversation even started. She contemplates apologizing and maybe even offering an awkward good night, but instead, she nearly jumps when his hand pulls her onto her back. He’s over her within a second and bends his head down, muffling her small noise of surprise. She is already panting when he kisses the base of her neck, trailing them up and up until he reaches her ear. 

“If they’re anything like you, I think they’ll handle the pain just fine.” 

Chills rattle her body at the lowness of his voice and she draws away his shirt, marking his bare shoulder blades when he bunches her gown in his hands and pushes his hips against hers. 


	33. While You Dreamt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A request from anonymous for more of Fragmented Quiescence (chapter 1) from Mikasa's perspective! Thank you so much for the continued support! Happy New Year <3

With her hand, she measures the size of his own, smoothing over his knuckles and farther until her fingers aline with the shape of his, the tips of them reaching just below his nails. She nuzzles her cheek a little more into the pillow and twines their fingers together, the gesture loosely reminiscent of the time their hands were the same size. Behind her eyelids, she envisions the streets of shiganshina and remembers running hand in hand with him, chasing the echo of the toll bell to the other end of the city. She admired yet worried about the glimmer in his eyes as he watched the scouts, unable to see the appeal when every other soldier’s cape was tattered from narrowly escaping the claws of death. 

The subtle twitch of his limbs pulls her from the reverie and she gingerly rubs the forearm draped over her waist, the pliable ridge of his veins rolling beneath her palm as she moves. Even in his dreams he is still restless, fingers curling around a blade that isn’t there to protect himself from something that no longer exists.

It was easy to figure that once the war ended, so would everything they’ve learned to cope with for the last decade. But instead, they find themselves constantly on edge, startled into consciousness by noises at night and alarmed by the gleeful screams of children during the day. They’ve embarrassed themselves in front of people and each other, their humiliation quickly followed by an onslaught of frustration and mental exhaustion. 

“We’re going crazy, Mikasa.” 

He whispered this one night when she had woken up again to a strange sound outside their home, pulled the pocket knife away from her hands and placed it on the dresser beside them. 

“You think so?” 

A sad smile answered her question as she peeked at him through her fingers, both breathing out heavily through their noses. Slumping back onto the sheets, they wondered if they’ll ever learn to forget the war, each and every sense the word carries. 

His joints pop softly when he stretches and she takes the opportunity to turn over. To her surprise, his eyes remain closed but she can see them moving beneath his skin, the soft curl of lashes flickering with each drowsy shift. The wild strands of his hair are amusing, and her hand cannot resist reaching up to fix them. She pushes some away to get a better look at his face, her ring catching on it as her hand retracts. It takes her a long time to carefully untangle the tresses from the diamond, her muscles burning from the tension of trying to hold herself still lest she wake him. He’s always been a heavier sleeper, and while it was a burden during their trainee years, she couldn’t be more relieved to hear the low rasps of his snores after all the little tugs that surely would have woken anyone else up. 

A part of her had hoped that he would cut his hair after he returned. Over time, though, she had become fond of it, finding him especially attractive when he tied it back during their last few training sessions. It makes him look older, more mature, but she thinks she still prefers it a shorter length, missing the youth it brought to him. It reminds her of grassy scents and stains that made Auntie click her tongue, of make-believe adventures and toothy smiles that made her feel like she could be a normal girl, in spite of everything she lost. 

A thought suddenly crosses her mind, weighing her with guilt. What they’re going through now is all too similar to what happened the days after her parents’ murder. If she just listened to her mother and ran away, Eren wouldn’t have needed to dirty his hands with blood, nor wouldn’t have had his life nearly strangled out of him. He would wake up gasping for breath in the middle of the night, only to find her already sitting up on her own mattress. They decided to stay up when their nightmares became too much, one of them eventually finding their way to the other’s bed. She gently brushed at the stray tears he insisted were not there and along the bruises dotting his neck with sad eyes. Although neither was to blame for what happened, she apologized for everything and he did too, these little exchanges bringing them closer together. Some part of them almost always worried about the other from then on, even when it wasn’t nightmares but a restless mind that kept them awake. She can hear her nine-year-old voice, disturbing the stillness of the room she can hardly remember. 

“ _ Are you alright? _ ” 

She hadn’t meant to scare him, but he cleared his throat, playing it off. 

“ _ Yeah, I’m okay. _ ” 

When it didn’t sound genuine, she frowned, unsure of what to say, if she should say anything. But she remembered something her and her father would do, and though the memory struck a raw nerve, she decided it was better than saying nothing. Wordlessly, she stuck out her pinkie and he merely stared at it, giving her a confused look. 

“ _ Pinkie promise? _ ”

“ _ Pinkie...? _ ” 

“ _ It means you swear you’re telling the truth. Give me your pinkie and I’ll believe you. _ ” 

He lifted his hand in a mimicking fashion, both of them reaching as far as they could from their place on their beds. Just as their fingers grazed, they slipped off the edge and fell to the floorboards, colliding into one another. She hadn’t even begun to nurse her wound before he erupted in a fit of restrained laughter, practically writhing and she covered her grin, not bothering to control the shake of her shoulders. He eventually found her pinkie and sealed his promise with a gentle squeeze, marking the beginning of something that would only carry on in the year to come. 

“What are you smiling at…” 

She stiffens, hand almost flinching away from his jaw at the question and the unexpectedness of it all. When did he wake up? She can see his eyes staring at her through the slit of his lids and, feeling caught, she fumbles out an answer. “I was - I mean I didn’t... I don’t know.”

He furrows his brows, unconvinced. “Is something wrong?” 

“No, no,” she murmurs, drawing some hair behind his ear to reassure. “I haven’t been up long, I’m fine.” Propping herself on a forearm, she looks over his bicep and squints at the clock hanging on the wall to avoid his scrutiny, its hands reading just past four. He cups the back of her hand and presses his lips to her palm, drawing her attention back. 

“Are you sure?” 

She instantly warms at the affection as she focuses on the touch between them, on the gaze that doesn't waver from hers. There's a fluttering sensation that starts in her stomach and makes its way to her chest, like dozens of moths that flock around a light in the dark. She wishes she could stop the clock ticking on the wall and pocket this very moment. His pupils catch what little moonlight comes through the window, making the greens surrounding them shine and twinkle like the stone adorning her left hand. His cheek beneath her hand is as soft as his breaths and she melts at the inquisitive tilt of his head, recognizing an expression she hasn’t seen since their first days together. 

It isn’t with words, but with a single action that she finally answers his question. She knows he remembers by the expression on his face, one that splits into a smile as she tentatively wraps a finger around his.    
  



	34. Baby's Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A request from anonymous for Mikasa to tell Eren that she's pregnant <3 with all the angst this ship has had in the last couple chapters of the manga, I needed something more lighthearted :') so thank you! Also, thank all of you for the kudos and all the wonderful comments that you leave me :3

At first, she thinks she’s sick.

It could’ve have been something she ate the day before, or maybe the shift in season is to blame. Whatever the case is, she doesn’t give much thought to how she fell ill as her stomach empties out its contents. When lifts herself off the bathroom floor, she thinks, albeit with a bit dizziness, that the worst is over. Figuring that this is nothing that drinking something hot and sleep can’t fix, she decides to take it easy for the rest of the day, trading her broom and gardening tools for a cup of her favorite tea and one of Armin’s books.

She’s hardly halfway done with the drink before pressure begins building on her bladder. In the seat, she shifts and adjusts herself until nothing is comfortable and she has no choice but to get up. Another wave of nausea greets her movements and she merely stands in place as her stomach protests, willing the feeling to go away with steady breaths and closed eyes. The way these instances come and go through her week is bewildering and distracting as she anticipates the next bout of sickness. The first couple times seemed normal, and she thought it had finally subsided after a day or so of nothing. But as time passes, her body is back and forth with being alright and then being riddled with odd symptoms, constantly teetering between both extremes and she only knows of one thing to do.

With a handwritten note left on the table, she feels slightly better when her head sinks into the pillow early in the afternoon, limbs falling and coiling on his side of the mattress as she surrenders to the battle of staying awake, of pretending she’s alright. It's her last memory before a hand is at her shoulder, whispers of her name prompting her to sit up and she feels nothing short of relief at the sight of him beside her, the orange glow of the sun reflecting the glint of worry in his eyes.

“What’s going on Mikasa?”

She melts back into the warmth of their sheets, reaching for the hand that's propping him up beside her head. “I think I’m getting sick.”

Immediately, he presses the same palm to her forehead, the backs of his fingers smoothing over her temple and she sighs delightfully at his touch.

“You don’t have a fever.”

“No?”

“No. How long have you been feeling like this?”

Her eyes fall to the laces on his chest as she contemplates. “Since the beginning of this week...”

“How come you haven’t said anything till now?”

“I didn’t think it would last this long. It's strange, how I feel…” It’s difficult thinking about how to explain it because even in her own mind it doesn’t make sense.

“You should have told me sooner.”

“...I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t know what to make of his drawn out breath, but with his fingers carding through her hair, he urges her to open her eyes. “You’re probably just tired. It’s okay to relax now and then you know.”

The corners of her mouth pull up until she is smiling softly at him and his weak lecture, even after she closes her eyes again and says, “I know.”

 

When the moon takes the sun’s place in the sky, she finds herself draped over the toilet bowl once more without any recollection of how she managed to get there. Eren is the only one there to cushion her body as it slumps back, spent.

“You need to see a doctor,” is the first thing he says in the morning when he hands her a glass of water.

“Good doctors require money that you and I both know we don’t have right now.”

He casts his eyes to the floorboards and she knows he’s racking his brain for some solution. She doesn’t like how this is becoming a huge deal.

“I’ll be fine,” she placates, voice slightly muffled against the rim of the glass.

“This isn’t _fine_ Mikasa. This doesn’t seem like a typical virus. We should -” he pauses, his expression completely changing.

Her brows furrow. “We should… what?”

“Hanji-san,” he replies, already pulling her out of bed. “I think she could help you.”  

 

“Where’s Eren?”

“Back home. I asked him to buy some food and do a couple things while I came here to see you.”

Hanji hums in acknowledgment, the sound rising into a familiar pitch.

“Thank you again, Hanji-san.”

Her old superior simply throws a smile over her shoulder and nods before completely turning around to face her. “The trip wasn’t too long I hope.”

“Not really. It’s nice to leave home every now and then.”

“I agree. Now then,” she claps her hands and scoots her seat closer to hers, “Based on what you’ve told me, I have a couple things to ask you.”

“Alright.”

“When was your last menstrual cycle?”

“My…?” Her mouth hangs slightly agape as she tries to remember. It was never really something she thought to keep track of. “Maybe a couple months ago? I haven’t had it recently.”

“I see. Now, bear with me on this next one. Are you sexually active?”

Instantly, her cheeks flush with heat but Hanji maintains her serious composure, waiting for an answer. Where is she going with this? She couldn’t possibly be suggesting -

Then, the realization is like a collapsing floodgate and the thought is the single thing that remains after her mind blanks and her body numbs. Her hands and watering eyes fall to her abdomen and her heart is thumping in her ears, each beat loud and demanding for the oxygen her lungs have suddenly become void of.

“Am I -?” Breathless, she looks up and through the tears blurring her vision to see Hanji already smiling at her.

“It seems so. Congratulations Momma.”

 

She can’t stop rubbing her stomach. There’s no bump yet, but somehow she thinks she can feel the child. She resists the urge to whisper to her belly on the ride home, but when she thinks about the baby, her imagination becomes as vivid as it was when she was still a child herself.

 

Eren jumps to his feet the moment she enters the house, rushing over with hands on her shoulders.

“So? Did you find out what's wrong?”

Tears begin to collect in her eyes with him in front of her and she can see the panic in his own eyes as he notices the moisture, how he’s already taking this all wrong. She almost wants to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, but instead, she raises a hand and wipes at her cheeks.

“Yeah. I did.”

“What is it?” he asks quickly. “How long will it take for you to get better?”

It takes everything to contain her emotions as she tries to drop hints. “Hanji-san said it would take about nine months.”

He jerks his head back slightly, the lines of his face creasing in confusion. “Nine _months_? Why nine?”

A short breath of amusement falls from her lips and he tilts his head with a nervous chuckle, his grip on her arms lessening with the tension. “Why are you acting strange?”

She answers by guiding his hands to her stomach, slowly repeating herself. “It's going to take nine months, Eren.”

His mouth forms the start of words but she never hears them, watching as he puts two and two together with a swipe of his thumbs over the fabric covering her skin.

“No…” he whispers incredulously. Then he’s laughing, and then they’re both crying.

“A baby?”

She nods.

“Really?”

She nods again, more vigorously. Her face and neck are peppered with kisses and _oh my god_ ’s until he wraps his arms tentatively around her waist, rocking them side to side. _A baby_ , he repeats, resting his head on her shoulder. She lightly knocks her head against his, murmuring, “Congratulations Papa.”


	35. Silver Lining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My friend and Tumblr user Jungiana6 requested Mikasa trying to help a depressed Eren! Thank you so much for the request :') I wrote this with a little inspiration from Isayama's recent Q&A with fans.

For a while, she chose not to say anything. She wants to believe that she did it to give him space, but in truth, she was afraid of what she would hear. To this day, she has not recovered from learning about his and Armin’s curse and she fears that asking him would bring about even more devastation. Because there are still memories he hasn’t told her about, ones that belong to a time before either of them and she knows, can see the way they assault his conscious in sporadic intervals. Eren shakes her off the moment she comes to his aid and, with excuses thrown over his shoulder, he disappears until she seeks him out late in the evening.

“Why do you work late?” She asks one night, frowning at the slouch in his stance. “You’ve done so much already these past months. You should rest, at least a little more -” 

He drops his head and sighs, irritated. She defeatedly considers abandoning the subject, again for his sake, but he turns around and the sight startles her. 

“... Since when do you drink?” 

He tips his head back in response, finishing what’s left in the glass. 

Despite the frustration that swells with this one-sided conversation, she remains calm and persists. “How much have you had?” 

“Probably more than enough,” he admits, refilling the cup. “Do you want some?” 

For a minute, she actually thinks about it. The amber liquid is tempting with its supposed promise to make one forget, to help numb the pains of her past and present. She feels it; the ache in her chest that finds its way into her hands, in the arches of her feet and she weakens with a sudden onslaught of exhaustion. 

She takes the glass from his hand, stares down at its contents with deep contemplation before putting it off to the side. She doesn’t want to test that theory, not tonight. Not with him in such a state. 

“Come,” she says, tugging him by his sleeve. He stumbles a bit over his feet and she twines their arms, guiding them both towards the door. 

“The paperwork -” 

“Forget it,” she replies curtly. “Someone else can take care of it in the morning.” 

After they round the second corner, he begins untangling himself from her grasp. “I can walk on my own, you know.” 

“It didn’t seem like you could.” 

“Well I can,” he shoots back, distancing himself from her.

Her tongue burns with pain as she bites down on it and she vehemently wonders where this attitude came from. But not minutes later, he surprises her with an apology. “I know you’re trying to help. I don’t mean - I shouldn’t -” 

“It’s fine… it's just -” she casts her eyes to the side, hoping that her next words won’t upset him. “You shouldn’t be drinking. You are supposed to retest your shifting abilities tomorrow.” He says nothing, simply walking beside her as they tread this familiar path. It doesn’t take much for her to worry about him, but this behavior is beyond concerning. Never has he been irresponsible when it came to their duties, especially one as important as tomorrow’s. Him working late, his mood swings, and now the drinking. The abnormality of it all is so blatant but she doesn’t know what to do or how to help him, and it bothers her as much as it scares her. 

When they locate his door, she pushes it open and sits him down on the mattress, seating herself on the empty space at his side. 

“Why are you working so late?” 

He runs a hand down his unshaven face, letting it fall to his lap. For the first time since she found him, he looks at her. 

“It helps distract me.” 

She slants her head, prodding a little further in hopes that he’ll talk more. “From what?” 

To her dismay, he becomes withdrawn again and at this, she lets go of her resolve of coaxing answers out of him, decides to quit pretending like she doesn’t know. “It’s the memories, isn't it?”

His eyes fall shut, flinching at the question and he just nods, finishing the water. “You knew?”

Mindlessly, her fingers trace over the folds of her skirt. “When we were imprisoned, you talked to Armin about your father’s memories. You woke up screaming because of them.” Neither of them look at one another as the recall the time. “Ever since then, you’ve been spacing out and acting, well, not like yourself. I thought the memories might’ve been why.”

“I don’t even know what ‘acting like myself’ is anymore.” 

Her brows draw closer together. “What do you mean by that?” 

He looks at her almost like he’s revealed a secret before he shakes his head. “You should go to sleep,” he suggests, clearly dodging the question. “Both of us. Like you said, I have another test tomorrow.” He won’t say it outright, but she can tell that he wants to be left alone again. “Worry about yourself. I’ll be fine, Mikasa.” 

“I don’t believe you.”

His gaze snaps from the floor to her face, following her as she rises to her feet. “I wish you could believe me when I say I’m here, for anything. You don’t have to shut me out.” 

The features of his face soften and she doesn’t wait for him to answer. She mumbles a ‘good night,’ blinking away the moisture that collects in her eyes as the click of the door echoes through the vacant halls. 

 

The test is disastrous. 

She catches the gist of what happened from a conversation between two fellow comrades and is furious with the Captain for ordering her to stay behind. What she could’ve done, she isn’t sure but that isn't what truly matters. In the medical ward, she glances inside each room she passes until she sees Connie, who pushes himself off the wall when he spots her. 

“Connie,” she pants, a little winded from rushing across headquarters. “Is he in there?” 

“Yeah,” he looks at the door she's pointing at. “He’s in there.” 

“What went wrong?” 

Connie leans back against the wall. “He got really sick after he transformed a few times. As a titan, he seemed distressed and wasn’t listening to what Hanji was telling him. Captain Levi cut him out after he collapsed and didn’t emerge from the nape on his own.”

She blinks rapidly, looking at their boots as she remembers when something similar happened during one of Hanji’s tests years ago. She’s struggling to calm her nerves but manages one last question. 

“Can I go in?”

“I’m pretty sure you can. He might be sleeping though. I’m waiting for Hanji-san to come back, but I think it would be alright if you see him. S’not like she could tell you no anyways.”

She smiles at her friend, his light-hearted comment bringing her panic down a notch. 

She touches his shoulder. “Thank you, Connie.” He half grins, nodding as she turns the knob and enters the room. 

She winces upon seeing him. The signs of his transformation replace the bags beneath his eyes, but his face is hollowed, skin a sickly color. His lids slit open when the door shuts, head lolling over in her direction. 

“Mikasa…” She drags a seat from the foot of the bed, places it at his side and sits.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he breathes, sucking in more air. “Better than earlier.” He lifts a hand to his grimacing face, pushing away the hair that catches on his lashes and sticks to his neck. Immediately, she gazes down at the hair tie secured around her wrist. 

“Do you think you can sit up?” 

“I don’t - think so. Could you help me?”

“Of course.” 

She can’t help but notice how weak his grip is on her arm as they work to sit him upright, how she has to steady him once they do. Leaning over, she turns his head away and gathers his hair into her hands, combing her nails over his scalp to pull it back properly before tying it neatly into a bun.

“Don’t you need that? Your hair - it’s getting longer again.” 

“It’s alright. I think I’m going to cut it soon. Besides, doesn’t it feel better having your hair out of your face?” 

He sighs, amusement pulling his mouth into a slight curve. “Yeah.” 

“You should probably lay back down -”

“No,” he waves her off nimbly, eyelids sliding shut. “I can lean against the headboard.” 

“That’s -” in an afterthought, she swallows her words and relents. “... Okay.” 

Without asking, she pours him water from the pitcher at their side and holds it out, carefully passing it into his hands when he reaches for it.

“It happened again,” he states after he drinks, passing the glass back to her. 

“What happened again?” 

“I failed. I lost my head, or maybe I just couldn’t think straight. One minute I’m getting ready to transform again and the next, I’m here. I don’t really remember what happened, but it’s obvious that I messed up.”

“I talked to Connie. He said you got distressed as a titan and collapsed after transforming a few times. Captain Levi pulled you from there when you didn’t come out of the nape on your own.” 

He scoffs, bitter. “What a surprise. After all this time, I’m still unable to small things like following directions. I must be a joke.” 

She looks at him sadly. “Please, don’t talk like that. It’s not true.”

“It is true,” he insists. A cloud passes in front of the sun, darkening the room. “I’m sorry, but it is.”

“You’re trying your best.” She places her hand on his forearm, squeezing. “This isn’t something that just anyone can do. It was only one test, I’m sure you’ll -” 

“I lied, Mikasa.” 

She retracts at the small confession and the air between them goes still. He peers at her from the corners of his eyes, to her hand lying limp on his arm, and back to the sheets crumpled at his waist. 

“I do remember what happened, at least before I blacked out. The man who had his power before me and my father… something terrible happened to his family when he was a child and it was all I could see and hear at a point during the experiment.”

His fists clench and the muscles in his forearm flex beneath her palm. She’s absolutely speechless when tears begin to well in his eyes.

“I tried so hard to ignore it, but it seems that I can’t even control as something as fundamental as my own mind. It’s too frustrating and I just keep screwing up.”

A tear falls on the back of her hand. “Eren, stop.” 

“I don’t know what to do and I feel like I’m letting everyone down -”

From her seat, she reaches forward to tug him to her, the force of her embrace making him grunt. At the sound, she becomes mindful of her grip and lessens it, her arms gingerly wrapping around his torso. When was the last time she hugged him, or anyone? Holding him like this is unfamiliar, and perhaps he thinks so too. His body is stiff against hers, making her think that he might be uncomfortable with her affectionate gesture. She nearly chastises herself for being impulsive and inconsiderate, but his arms begin to move, lifting higher and higher until they settle. His touch is soft, barely there. His hands rest on her back the way leaves do when they meet a surface of water; silent and gentle in nature, the contact rippling warmth from his body to hers. 

“It’s hard, I know. This is something new to all of us too. But you don’t need to cope with it on your own.” She leans into him more, his neck hot and feverish against her cheek. “You’re not a screw-up, Eren. It just wasn’t your day. You’ll have an opportunity to try again. As for the memories… I think we should talk to Hanji or Armin about this. It might not happen right away, but we’ll figure something out to help you control them,” She anchors her hands on his shoulders and looks back at him, feeling his fingers run down the ridges of her spine with the motion. “Alright?” 

Eren lifts a hand and wipes his eyes with the heel of his palm. “Okay,” he whispers, and she’s hugging him again. He reciprocates it quicker this time, securing his arms more confidently around her. “Okay.” 

She’s never seen him quite so shattered. Picking up the pieces of him comes with an occasional prick of her skin and sometimes she questions if she can really help fix him. But as they break apart, he begins muttering sentences and through them, she realizes that he’s asking her to stay. Relieved of any doubt she could have at that moment, she agrees and sinks back into the chair, rays of sunlight flitting back into the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, I touched on only a few symptoms of depression, such as cognitive, emotional, and behavioral. There are many things that could accompany depression, as it may vary from each person who suffers from it. Through Mikasa, I tried to show that this kind of behavior is not normal and how it can affect others who know someone that is depressed. This mental illness is too often romanticized on different media platforms and I knew I had to be careful with my portrayal of it. It is not uncommon for a person (or people) to be at a loss for what to do or how to help, but acknowledging the symptoms as soon as they appear is the first step in getting help. There's nothing wrong with asking for help and I strongly encourage it for any of my readers who may be struggling with depression. There are numerous resources available online for more information about this topic.


	36. Just Like You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request from anonymous for Eren and Mikasa to gaze over their first child! Thank you so much for the request! This could be a continuation of chapter 34, "Baby's Breath." Or it could be a whole one-shot on its own :)

With a sudden loss of warmth, he shivers and rolls over in search of her, fingers spanning and stretching over the empty space beside him until her voice sounds from the foot of their bed. Mikasa whispers soothingly, murmuring little nothings that mix with sputters and babbles alike. She had always been a lighter sleeper than him, but he wonders how she could hear their restless child and get up as if she hadn’t gotten only a few hours of sleep this past week. And here he was, hardly having the energy open his eyes, much less the will. His admiration for her grows tremendously as does the urge to sink further into the pillow and let her gentle tune lull him to sleep. It isn’t long, though, before she is interrupted by a few hics from the baby, the beginnings of a cry that make him stir.  

The wooden rocking chair creaks as Mikasa stands and tries to calm their son, but soon his ears pick up the slight panic that seeps into her tone when the cry becomes louder. Worried, he ignores his fatigue and moves the blanket aside to help, cupping his small head with nimble fingers the second he is beside her. His thumb swipes lightly at a wet, rosy cheek as both hush and coddle the baby. Soon, the room is once again quiet and still, save for the eyes that blink away tears and peer up at them curiously.

“Thank you,” she says, relieved. 

“Yeah.” He smooths his palm over the junction of her neck and shoulder, yawning. “I don’t know how he can be wide awake at this hour.” He pulls at the fastenings of the diaper, peeking inside. “He’s clean.” 

The corner of her jaw presses into his knuckle as she leans onto his hand. “I think he gets this energy from you.” 

“Me?” he asks. “You kind of make it sound like it’s a bad thing.”

She wipes at the baby’s nose with her sleeve. “I’m only half joking.” _Half_ , he muses, nearly scoffing. “He’s a baby, it’s apparently normal for him to wake up in the middle of the night. But... when he gets older and starts doing things on his own, I bet he’ll be just like you.” They simultaneously sit on the mattress, staring at the boy in her lap.

“Like me how?” 

She presses soft kisses to the baby’s forehead when he reaches for her face, humming against his skin. 

“Energetic.”

“You said that already.”

“Talkative.”

“Okay,” he says somewhat agreeably, letting her continue.

“Loud.”

“...Well -” 

“Impulsive.”

“But -”

“Impatient,” she adds casually, playing with the hands that curl around her fingers. He pulls a face, grumbles. “I’m going to bed -”

“Strong,” she murmurs, running her hands over tiny forearms. “Brave… smart… caring.” He turns at the shift in her words, rendered silent a the small smile she gives him. “And very handsome.” She lets her gaze linger on him before dropping it down again, brushing away tufts of dark hair. “He already looks so much like you.” 

Though a part of him still thinks she’s mostly teasing, his cheeks and ears color at her compliments, at the undertones of sincerity. He responds in the only way he knows how in moments like these, carefully maneuvering around the baby’s head to take her cheeks into his palms and kiss her soundly, doing so almost three times over till stubby fingers are pushing insistently at his chin. He can’t help a laugh, and neither can she as they pull away, chuckling at the seemingly possessive hold their son has on Mikasa, large green eyes watching his every move. 

“Hey kid,” he chides, taking him from Mikasa. He feigns assertiveness as he leans against the bed, holding him high up with his arms. “I saw her first.” He exaggerates a frown with playful intent, but his facade breaks entirely when the boy returns his frown, and he sees what Mikasa was talking about. 

“Holy shit,” he mouths, looking at her. _You see?_ is what her expression says. Besides the shade of their eyes, he wasn’t very convinced that he took much after him. But he had to admit, that little scowl _is_ reminiscent of his younger self. 

“I can put him to bed.” She offers through his awe, blinking heavily at them while rubbing at the dark crescents beneath her eyes. 

“No,” he says as he sits up, propping the baby up with his arm. “Sleep. I got him this time.” He purposely pushes his mouth against hers again, grinning at the whine it pulls from below them. To his surprise, she doesn’t protest in her usual fashion and practically collapses onto the mattress. He holds his laughter, not used to such a sight.

Taking Mikasa’s place in the chair, he sits the boy on his lap, unsure of what he should do; he’s looking everywhere _but_ at him. Trying to get his attention, he begins making dumb faces that hurt his cheeks, anticipating some kind of reaction but is met with a face as impassive as the woman sleeping in front of them. 

“I see who you get your sense of humor from,” he flatly notes. “Are you mad at me? Is it because I kissed her?” He bounces his legs lightly, watching as he plays with the strings hanging from the band of his pants. In one of his earliest memories, he recalls doing the same thing with Mom’s apron, messing with the ties until it came loose. She had clicked her tongue but smiled, leaned down to tug fondly at his nose and had called him a little troublemaker. He smiles sadly at the memory of her, wishing she were here to guide him and Mikasa through all of this. She would probably tease the hell out of him, but he can picture her playing with her grandson, tickling and making the baby laugh like she did with him. With the image in mind, he wriggles his fingers along the soft skin covering the child’s ribs, his breath becoming quicker and harsher in way Eren recognizes as excitement. When he does it again with sounds he didn’t know he was capable of making, he earns a flail of chubby limbs and a toothless smile that have him beaming with adoration because he’s never made him _laugh_. 

He keeps up the affectionate, wordless banter till the baby yawns and lazily pats his bare collarbones, his energy spent. He rocks back and forth rhythmically as he hums Mikasa’s song from earlier, the noise low in his throat. Eventually, his forehead leans against his shoulder, long eyelashes barely brushing the base of his neck. He presses his lips to a temple, savoring the moment before he wakes again in a few hours. 

“Little troublemaker.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Names names names. I don't really know what name Eren and Mikasa would canonically choose if they had a child, so I think I'll leave it to your imagination!


	37. Eventually,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 105 has me messed up all the way. So I thought some smut could fix it. Warning: Manga spoilers/explicit content   
> P.S. thank you to all who left comments in the last chapter. I read each of them over and over. You guys are seriously the best <3

He hasn’t been gone for much time, but it’s the longest they’ve spent without _truly_ seeing one another. Battle didn’t allow for conversation, so she stole glances and touches that managed to relay her concern for him, even if it lasted a second. Now, at the sight of him, she is relieved, nervous, worried, and conflicted. Neither of them say a word. 

Why they’re hesitant, she couldn’t explain or reason through cluttered thoughts that have her caught between walking and running, between greeting and an embracing him. She doesn’t know how he’s feeling, fears he’ll push her away again. His downcast gaze as he moves forward makes the anxious part of her think that he might walk past her, but he doesn’t. At the utterance of her name, her reservations fade and she presses a hand to the side of his neck, mouth opening to speak but quickly closing at the sound of a door creaking around the corner. 

Both of them look in the direction of the footsteps, preparing to distance themselves from one another but no one comes, a more distant door falling shut. Their chests heave out a short breath and she drops her hand to smooth over the wrinkles of his jacket, moving it down his arm till it reaches his fingers. They shouldn’t talk here. Her grip is light as she takes a single step back with questioning eyes, and him a step forward in answer. For once in too long, she breaks her routine, the rules and she leads him into her room, letting him shut the door behind them. 

“Are you okay?” She pushes his hair away from his face, tucking them behind his ears and wincing as the tip of her thumb ghosts over the bruise on his jaw. His fingers close around her bandaged wrist, pulling her hand away from the tender spot. 

“I’m breathing.” His nails graze over the binding. “You?”

Her mouth twitches to suppress her grimace, eyes falling to his chest. Eren brings her hand to his lips. 

“I understand.” He gently kisses the base of her palm and she tugs him to her, softening against the intimate warmth of his mouth. It’s unhurried and quiet, hushing the ringing from all the explosives and gunfire, all the screams her ears were riddled with. His lips leave hers and rest at the curve of her temple, moving not to press another kiss but a murmur to her skin. 

“I’m tired.”

She leans onto him further. “Me too.” 

“Do you want to -”

“Yeah. Yeah, let's sleep.” They face away from one another as he strips his shirt and she, the rest of her clothes, slipping on a loose long sleeve over her undergarments. She hears him blow harshly and the room darkens, the last embers clinging to the wick fading as it cools. Wisps of the dead flame permeate the air as they settle next to one another; his chest at her back and her hands over his knuckles, legs curling when his arm wraps around her middle and brings her closer. 

Being like this was all she could’ve hoped for once they returned but immediately, she can sense something missing, something off. Sleep used to come easier with their shared warmth and the slowed rhythm of his heart, but tonight, it doesn’t seem to matter how worn she is. Her sleep is adverse, fitful and full of twisted memories that have her jolting awake with moist eyes and labored breaths. Once she gathers her bearings, she realizes that his arm is no longer around her, finds his back turned to her with long strands covering his face. She throws her legs over her side of the bed, rubbing her eyes to avoid looking at the empty mattress across the room. 

“Couldn’t sleep either?”

She turns an ear to him, humming in response. 

“My body is so tired, but I’m afraid of closing my eyes, Mikasa. Nothing good will come of it.”

“I guess we should have figured this would happen.” Her body shifts at the memory of the chaos, of maneuvering over the corpses of innocent civilians, Sasha. “Nothing good came out of what happened.” 

He doesn’t say anything right away, moving to rest on his back. “It bought time for us.” 

She contemplates that for a moment, and then speaks bluntly. “For us? Or for yourself?”

He sitting up now and she doesn’t shy away from him, notes the slight crinkle between his brows. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

Her heart is heavy in her chest and her hand reflexively reaches for the scarf that isn’t around her neck but hanging with the rest of her gear. She catches herself, planting her palm firmly on the mattress. 

“Do you plan on running off again? Without saying anything to the rest of us?” 

“Mikasa…. I couldn’t tell any of you back then.”

“Why?” 

“Because no one would’ve let me go there.”

“We could have worked something out.” 

“You know that it would not have been approved by Hanji or the higher-ups.”

“The way you did it, no.” 

Eren drags his hands over his face, words muffled behind them. “You don’t understand.” 

“Do you?” 

There's a pause, her question alluding back to their earlier conversation when she first came to his side. She hears not defiance she was anticipating, but sadness in his tone when he says, “I do.” He stands and begins to pace around the room, stopping in front of her. She swallows, eyes fall to the floor. 

“Even after everything me and you have been through, everything we had, in the end, you didn’t trust me enough, did you?” 

She waits for a reply, feels a sting when there isn’t one. The conversation meets a dead end and she glances up at him, trying to mask her hurt. “I think you should go back to your room.” 

Shock is his initial response. For someone who could never hide his emotions, this is the most of a reaction she’s seen from him since they first started arguing. It's hard to believe that this is the same man who used to defend himself so heatedly. But if there is one thing that hasn’t changed about him, it’s his stubbornness. 

“No, I’m leaving like this.” He kneels in front of her, forcing her to look at him. “The whole world is against me now, and I… I need you. By my side. I don’t deserve your trust or anyone else’s. I know I messed up… but… but I want everyone on this island who deserves a future to have one. I want a future for _you_ , Mikasa. More than anything.”

Her composure crumbles, throat knotting and eyes watering. He moves between her knees and hugs her waist, brow at her collarbone. “Please. Don’t hate me.” 

Her arms drape over his shoulders, more moisture collecting in her eyes. “I don’t hate you. I’m just _scared_. You want to free everyone, but who will save you?” Eren pulls back to look at her, sad and unwilling to answer. They already know he doesn’t have much time. 

Dread settles deep below her skin, chest aching and she kisses him, her hands cupping his jaw to guide him closer. He moves deliberately, opening his mouth and kisses her deeper to chase away the somber mood, their kiss beginning to stray from innocence. His fingers skim underneath her shirt, molding to the dips of her waist to pull her roughly to him and she pants against his lips, recognizing a different kind of ache that has her meeting him in fervor, legs squeezing his hips as they push into hers. She leans back and he follows, kneeling over her and she gathers his hair to one side, tugging on it to bring his mouth to hers. They shift further up the bed, and she writhes in his hold when his hands drift from her waist to her rear and _grip_. Her head falls back, pulse quickening as his lips move up her exposed neck until they find hers again. She doesn’t stay still long.  

“Mikasa -” he manages between their kisses, trying to get her attention. He bends her wrist back, unhooking her fingers from the hem of his pants. “Mikasa.” 

Her lashes flutter open and she is sidetracked by the gleam in his eyes, almost neglecting the need for air. When was the last time he looked at her in such a way...

“Are you -”  he stops, making a noise in this throat. His eyes cast to the side, like he’s trying to be mindful of his words. “Do you want this? With... _me_?” 

Her thumb swipes at his wet cheekbone, coaxing him to look at her. The insecurity in his eyes used to be a rare yet endearing sight, but now it’s painful for her to see. He refers to himself in a scathing tone, as if he’s nothing. He’s cracking under the weight of guilt thrown onto him, will continue to break with all he has yet to shoulder and she feels like she can’t do anything but grieve. But in this moment, she leans up on her elbows to kiss his cheek permissively, willing for them to take a moment to forget before she drags her lips down his neck. His throat bobs beneath her mouth and soon his hand moves and curls over each rib on her side, shirt riding up on it and she helps him, raising her arms to let the fabric slip over her head. With his hand fumbling between her shoulder blades and hers shaking as she undoes the fastening on his pants, he lowers her back down onto the sheets, gently unhooking the straps from her shoulders. As the cloth slips away and falls over the edge of the bed, she feels a familiar race of her heart, a lost in the times before he left them, left her. Each careful gesture contrasts the last time they’d done this, where he had been rougher but reluctant to leave her room afterward, stretching their time together until the rising sun told them he had to go. He disappeared a few days after, and she could only wonder if that was why he clung to her. Sometimes she could still feel it, the phantom of arms so strong and warm she knew they were his. But then she’d turn into them, waking up on the vacant space of her bed. As though sensing a change, he physically draws her back to him, pulling her by the waist and resting his bare chest on hers. 

Her thoughts are readily discarded as she pushes his pants halfway down his thighs, doing little to hide her eagerness. He takes and pins her forearms adjacent to her head, squeezing affectionately as he finishes freeing each leg. His palm slides up her wrists, pushing them further into the sheets when his fingers and legs wedge between hers. She shuts her eyes at the feel of his length at the inside of her thigh, so close to where she wants him and she strains against his hold to force him closer, to remove the last of their undergarments but he doesn’t let her. The tip of his nose presses to the side of her face as his lips traverse along the edge of her jaw and up to her ear.

“ _I‘m so sorry_.” 

He says it low and the sensation of it makes her skin prickle in response, an airy moan just barely muffled into his shoulder when he moves his hips again. Her hands curl into fists and she turns her head to prompt another kiss, bangs already beginning to stick to her face. Eren releases her forearms to hold the sides of her head, tongue brushing against the roof of her mouth and she lightly rakes her nails down the muscle between his shoulder blades, down the hard ridges on each side of his spine. Her middle and index finger dip into his boxers and continue their descent, smoothing over the warm skin of his hips. 

This time he helps her, balancing his weight on one side and then the other until he’s able to kick the cloth away. She reaches between them again, gliding her fingers over each little crevice that defines his abdomen, lower but he moves accordingly, pecking her neck, collarbone, leaving a lingering kiss in the valley her chest. His hands roll gingerly over her breasts when his lips press just beneath her navel, nipples pebbling underneath the calloused texture of his skin and she arches her back, desperate for the bliss his touch brings. 

Encouraged, he goes to tug her underwear down, unhooking it from one ankle and letting it dangle from the other. He keeps moving downward, pushing her legs further apart and when she realizes what he intends to do, she calls his name, putting her fingers underneath his chin to make him look up at her. 

“Not… wait.” 

He pants quietly, blinks in confusion and, slightly embarrassed, she pushes herself up and sits them upright. She settles in his lap, using his shoulders to steady herself and shivering when the air cools the sweat on her skin. The tendons in his neck bulge beneath her palms as their lips meet and part, his harsh breaths stuttering through his nose and against her face just as the tip of him brushes along the seam of her core, her whimper breaking their kiss. His name is carried on a shaky breath, and she hopes he can sense her want in the way she clutches his arms, against the insistent push of her hips and swipe of her tongue. He moans into her mouth and responds, cupping the backs of her thighs to raise her body so she can align them. With him no longer propping her up, she lowers back down, stars faintly peppering her vision

His fingers smooth over the lines of discomfort that crease her face, sweep away the hair that sticks to it and she hears him ask if she’s okay, if she’s still sure. She rests her forehead on his and nods, opening her eyes to find his glassy ones already fixed on her. 

There’s subtle quiver in them, lids not blinking all the way and she thinks he’s trying to keep his tears from falling. 

“Eren.” The pads of her fingers wipe just beneath his lower lashes, catching thick tears that leak from his closed eyes. “ _Eren_.” His lids flutter and reveal irises that reflect the little light in her room, making them shimmer with tragic brilliance. She steals a few seconds to focus on his eyes and sees the nine-year-old that she comforted when Maria fell, picks out the same child-like fear and uncertainty of tomorrow. She misses the fierceness of them, remembers the moments she admired how expressive they were; the small crinkle of mirth, the narrowed shape they took when he was determined and nearly every emotion in between. 

“It’s okay.”  

She rises to kiss his forehead and falls to fully kiss his mouth, corner to corner and repeats her movements, the discomfort subsiding with each drop. He follows the cadence of her hips, palms moving up and down her thighs until he takes her by surprise, jerking up just as she lowers herself, eliciting a moan from both of them. She tells him to do it again and he does, wrapping an arm around her waist to hold him to her as her limbs start to slacken. Her fingers grasp at him desperately, tangling in his hair and marking his skin. By the time she opens her eyes again, she manages to identify the sheets under her and him above, and through her haze, she can’t recall just when they moved back but she quickly decides she doesn’t care when he presses into her clit, the stars returning. His muscles are tensing are so are hers, their pants mixing into one breath as he keeps thrusting and rubbing till her legs spasm and she gasps, choking back a cry but all she can hear is him. His hips roll lazily a few more times, riding out the last of his orgasm before he stills completely, the air cooling around them. Little by little the high wears off, the kiss he presses below her ear bringing her back to reality but he parts from her too soon and without warning, making her exhale sharply. She’s drowsy, and he must be able to tell because he starts tugging the wrinkled sheets from the edge of her bed back onto her. 

“Are you going to leave?”

He gradually finishes adjusting the sheets, running a hand over a forearm beneath them. “I should.” She knows he’s right. Given his circumstance, he shouldn’t even be here to begin with. Even then, she can’t help but look at him and ask, “but will you?” 

Eren meets her gaze, let's his eyes wander from her face to her curled legs, to the door and then back. She waits patiently, knows that she will understand if he chooses to go but he does no such thing. He lifts the thin cotton and lays at her side, coiling an arm over her middle as she pushes a leg between his. 

“No,” he whispers into her shoulder, pulling her closer. “I’ll stay here.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote/came up with ideas for some of this drunk lol. Thank you to the person who put up with me in that state. You know who you are lol.


	38. Helping Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request from anon for Eren to return home to surprise Mikasa! WWII AU. Thanks for your request!

An empty home and a few years have a way of wearing her down. Her daily routines quickly became monotonous without the vibrancy of his laughter, his presence; the letters that reach her weeks after they were written are hardly a remedy for her unease. It could never be the same as the taste of his kiss, hearing his voice or breathing in the scent of his clothes. But she takes comfort in the distinct shape of his words, barely legible yet they come together in small jokes and old memories, sometimes accompanied with poor doodles that make her and Armin smile. Until she reaches the final page of his letters and she remembers the loneliness that made its place within her, ever since the night Eren threw a bag over his shoulder and promised they’d meet again. 

Her and Armin see each other often enough, though it never felt the same without their fiery counterpart. She knows he thinks so too when a hush falls between them and he squeezes her hand with a sad smile, reeling her back from the depths of her mind. Concerned, he encourages her to stop working long hours and try new things, perhaps make new friends to keep her company for the days he couldn’t. And It was when the ‘for sale’ sign for the house not far from theirs was taken down that she had warily decided to take his advice. She’d been on her way home from the bookshop Armin’s family owned when out of the rotting barn came Sasha, who enthusiastically introduced herself before she could. While this girl had been friendly enough, Mikasa learned early on in their friendship that this girl was quite a handful. 

There’s no predicting what will happen every time Sasha asks for help. She’s never aided her with the same thing twice, each task being just as, if not more, strange as the last. To her own bemusement, she agrees every time, her appearance afterward making both Armin and Jean remind her that she needs to learn to say no. In all honesty, though, she doesn’t mind it. Whether it’s chasing her chickens back into the coup she left unlatched by accident or climbing a tree to get down some impossible object, it all becomes something to laugh about later. In spite of everything, she’s grown quite fond of her, finding in Sasha a kind of free spirit Eren has. 

But when she ties a cloth over her eyes, she’s just a little more than skeptical and twice as worried. 

“Relax Mikasa, I just need your help with something.” 

“How can I do that if I have something covering my eyes?” Sasha is silent for a second and she instantly regrets her question, sensing yet another one of her tasteless jokes.

“You’ll  _ see _ . Ha! Get it? See?” 

“You’re a terrible comedian.”

“And you’re terrible at putting faith in people.”

“No, just you.” 

“Mikasa!” She doesn’t fight the smile that tugs her mouth upwards or, oddly, the curiosity that grows with each step forward. What is this girl planning? She’s never been that good of a liar, though she certainly has the element of surprise. She says she needs help but the blindfold indicates otherwise. In anticipation, she plays along. 

“Am I going to have to fix something?

“Nope!”

“Is my dress going to get torn again?”

“C’mon, I sewed it back together as an apology. And just -” she breathes audibly through her nose. “Have patience, Mikasa. I promise it isn’t anything bad.” 

She concedes with a sigh, letting her limp arms be guided until Sasha drops them. The air smells of hay and she thinks they’re near the barn. Sasha calls for her, voice a bit distant but hardly lacking in its usual volume. She steps forward, positive she’s inside some sort of enclosing and she thrusts her hands out instinctively, searching for a solid guide until her hands are back in another’s, their palms rough and larger than Sasha’s. Her fingers curl to feel the hand hers are in, trying to identify their owner. “Is this Jean?” Sasha chuckles nervously, making her eyebrows furrow in suspicion. Those hands slip from hers and Sasha is close again, clasping her shoulders.

“Okay, I need you to stand  _ right here _ .” The last couple words are prolonged as she’s pulled a few more steps to the right, those hands from earlier (she's sure their Jean’s with how clammy they feel) settling onto her shoulders and adjusting her in place. There’s a rustling that goes on for a few moments too long and she squints through the cloth, futilely using whatever light coming in to help her see. 

“Alright!” Sasha says with finality, “Are you ready Mikasa?”

“I don't know,” she says, suddenly hesitant and a little dreadful. 

“Oh, of course you are. Go on, take off the blindfold.” 

Her fingers tug at the ties for several seconds, and nothing seems to come undone. “What kind of knot did you tie?” she half complains. “I can’t get it off.” Those hands are back over hers, helping her until the inhibiting cloth comes loose and she feels thumbs swiping over her shoulder blades. Her eyes blink out the blinding sunlight coming from the window before they focus on Sasha, who is standing a few feet away, her palms pressing together against her smile. In the midst of her confusion, her shoulders are given a gentle squeeze and she turns with a frown. 

Her eyes widen incredulously, welling with tears she has to blink away to make sure she isn’t imagining things, imagining  _ him _ . She doesn't really notice the camera flashing beside them as she takes a few steps back, shaking her head in disbelief. When she looks to Sasha, she nods at him, smiling as if she’s saying  _ yes, he is really standing there _ . 

He’s grinning a grin she’s traced so many times, and with a small wave, he murmurs a single and wavering, “Hi.”

Within the next second she’s wrapped around him and vice versa, her whimpers overtaken by his laugh and the couple cheers around them. Her heart is beating so fast and she can hardly fathom what’s happening but he’s showering the very kisses she’s longed for on her lips and tear-stained cheeks, pushing the little air her lungs have with the pressure of his hug. Another pair of arms encircle both her and Eren, the blonde hairs in her watery peripheral undoubtedly Armin’s. 

“It's good to have you home.” 

“It’s good to be home buddy.” His voice is deeper than she remembers, the sound rich as it fills the room, her ears. She feels embarrassed when he cups her face and pulls it from his neck, wondering just how awful she looks with swollen eyes and a ruddy nose. She doesn’t mean to, but she cries harder looking him, relieved to find little damage besides the scar above his left brow. She reaches for it but he stops her, resting her hand back on his chest. 

“Mikasa,” he says and she closes her eyes, feeling his beating heart beneath her hand. “I missed you.” 

She swallows, trying to force out the words she’s been wanting to say ever since he slung a bag over his shoulder and walked out of the life they started together. But her throat is too tight and she can only manage another choked noise before she grips him roughly, pulling him down until her arms are wound fondly around his neck. He grunts with the force of her embrace but relaxes, squeezing her back. 

Her ears pick up Sasha’s little sounds of joy and she turns to look at the girl, sniffling. “How…?”

She gestures to him. “Your boyfriend actually came here to talk to me.”

Mikasa looks questioningly at Eren and he shrugs, wiping at her nose with a cloth he pulled from a pocket. “You told me about her in your letters, and I wanted to surprise you. She seemed like the kind of person who would help me.” 

“Of course I would! Mikasa is one of my best friends.” Sasha pats her on the back, putting her hand on her own hip. “Wow Mikasa, I know you said he was handsome but you didn’t do him justice.” She nudges her teasingly with her elbow. “He’s quite a catch.” 

Mikasa nearly rolls her eyes at Eren’s smugness but holds back her giggle when Sasha mentions the face he pulled when she thought he was Jean.

“I should’ve taken a photo of that,” Armin adds with regret, prompting Eren to whack him lightly on his arm. As Eren counters his teasing, she steps back and pulls her friend into a hug. Surprised, Sasha goes stiff but quickly eases up, acknowledging her wordless gratitude. 

“Hey, Mikasa?” 

“Hm?” 

“Don’t get mad… but I actually do need your help with something.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you wish for more EM content, visit my Tumblr :3 (I'm under the same username!)


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